Hard Liquor
by Miss Mungoe
Summary: AU set in the Magnolia-version of New York during the 1920s Prohibition. Hired as the personal bodyguard of a deprived heiress with more sass than size, Gajeel Redfox soon finds himself in over his head. And in a world of hostile takeovers, bootleggers and speakeasies, two prejudiced individuals learn that getting along is about as easy as drinking in public. – GaLe, some NaLu.
1. bootleg bodyguard

AN: Yes, I know – why am I starting another project before I've even finished my other projects? Because plot bunnies. So I present to you: Fairy Tail meets the Roaring Twenties! Because I love the twenties. And because Gajeel needs to be in suspenders.

**Warning:** this fic is rated 'M' for coarse language and violence. **There will be no explicit sexual content; only suggestions**.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

A small note on terms you might want to know:

**The Prohibition**: from 1920-1933 in the United States. A national ban on the sale, manufacture and transportation of alcohol.

**speakeasy**: establishment that sold alcoholic beverages illegally during the Prohibition. Also called 'blind pig', 'gin mill' and 'juice joint'.

**bootlegging**: the illegal sale, manufacture and transportation of alcoholic beverages.

**dewdropper**: insult. Basically: 'lazy, unemployed and good-for-nothing'.

* * *

**Hard Liquor**

**by Miss Mungoe**

**Chapter I**

He'd never been one for the hustle and bustle of the inner city.

"Hey, watch where you're going, dewdropper!"

No. What he preferred was the world residing in Magnolia's shadows – the dingy alleys with their illegal bars and shady clientèle. To be able to walk the streets without enduring the pointed stares and acid remarks of the city's nobility. To glare and spit and smoke as much as he damn well wanted without being kicked out on his ass.

"Oh, dear, look at that. They should really do something about keeping his kind off the streets," a muted murmur at his back followed his slouching footsteps, and he growled low in his throat.

High society. Fucking over-privileged fat-cats and their self-righteous attitudes. _They _were the true scum of the city – an insult to anyone having had to scrape by for a measly meal or a roof to sleep under. Perched on their high horses, looking down their noses...

Fucking pussies, the lot of them.

Pausing for a passing automobile, Gajeel shot the driver a glare before cutting across the street. A murmur of voices to his left reached his ears, and he levelled his stare on the group of young women having just exited the local hat-shop. They fell silent at his sharp gaze, but erupted into frantic whispers upon his passing. So no, Gajeel Redfox didn't like the inner city.

He _loathed_ _it_.

Crossing the road and rounding the corner, he broke through the throng of finely dressed passers-by like a dark smudge on a white sheet – worn boots scuffing against the cobblestones, hands in the pockets of his trousers and looking for all the world like the ruffian he was so called behind his back.

It hardly mattered, anyways. He'd been called worse.

Stopping at the corner of the next street, Gajeel passed a casual glance to both sides before slipping into the shadows of the nearest alley, although what passed for an 'alley' in this part of town was a far cry from the ones he'd grown up in. Making his way down the disgustingly clean cobblestones, looking for all the world like they'd been polished, he came to a stop by a red metal door, hidden amongst the red brick of the building. Pounding four consecutive times on the door, each strike a ringing clang in the alley, he waited, crossing his arms over his chest. In the distance the chattering sounds of Magnolia proper could be heard – like a persistent mosquito on the edge of his consciousness. The hum of automobiles and the laughter of the upper class. _Disgusting._

He didn't need to wait long before the the latch was removed and the door swung open before him, revealing a head of spiky hair in the most atrocious colour the world had ever seen.

"You're back," Natsu greeted uselessly, to which Gajeel only nodded, before slipping past him and inside, the lock sliding shut behind him.

They walked down the hallway in relative silence until reaching the main room, where Gajeel set his course straight for the worn sofa in the corner. Propping his feet on the table, he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply while his companion took a seat on the cardboard box stationed opposite, to continue the meal he'd been busy devouring before his interruption. They sat in relative silence for a few blessed moments, but true to the character of the man in front of him, it didn't last long.

"Any problems today?" he asked around a mouthful of food.

Exhaling a lungful of smoke, Gajeel snorted. "None – shit's too fuckin' easy these days."

Natsu hummed, taking a large bite of the bread on his plate. "Any good matches scheduled?"

He shrugged. "Didn't check. Might run by tomorrow if nothing comes up." Exhale. "I could use the cash."

"If you can win, that is," came the remark, and red eyes snapped up to see the flash of a teasing grin. "Been a while since you were in the ring – rumour has it Iron Fist Gajeel's gotten a little..._rusty._"

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "Hardy har har. And you're one to talk, Salamander – I ain't seen you in the ring in months."

Natsu shrugged. "Been busy," was all he said. Gajeel snorted, but didn't push further. Rivals they might be, but they were still associates, and in their line of work cue words like 'busy' meant a change of subject. He took another drag of his cigarette.

"So how have things been around here? The boss keeping up?"

At this, Natsu smiled, raising his glass in a salute. "Better than ever. Situation being what it is, no one wants to rat the old man out. 'Sides, he's respected pretty much everywhere in this town. The ban didn't change that."

Gajeel shook his head. "Businessman to bootlegger, and still popular," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Natsu grinned.

"Hey, the company's got nothing on the speakeasy these days – we've never had this much food in stock!"

"Of course that's what _you'd _notice."

"What're you implying, rusty?"

"That you're a glutton, sissy-pants."

"You're one to talk! Where d'ya think all the damn scotch goes? I ain't seen anyone drink as much as you."

"Hey, I pull my weight around here," Gajeel growled.

Natsu snorted through his food. "Yeah, so do we all. What _else _do you do? Hell, I don't even know where you go during the day. You could be slacking off for all we know," he said with a shrug, mouth stuffed.

Gajeel crossed his arms over his chest, the picture of defiance. "I pull my weight," he stressed, glare fixed intently on the pink-haired man sitting across from him. Natsu rolled his eyes, swallowing heavily before pointing a finger at his companion.

"One day you'll realize that we're your family and stop being so damn mysterious. Seriously? It's getting a little old."

"You _reminding _me of that is getting a little old."

"Hey, I'm on behalf of everyone on this – you're too damn secretive."

"And you're too damn _open _– it's a miracle you're still alive with that naivety you've got going on," he retorted.

"Yeah? Well-"

"_Boys_."

Both gazes snapped up at the sound of their boss' voice, eyes landing on the small but imposing form standing in the doorway. Arms crossed over his chest, Makarov Dreyar regarded them with furrowed brows, sharp eyes trained on their slouched forms. Natsu sat straight in his seat, and despite himself, Gajeel realized he'd taken his feet off the table in pure reflex. He shook his head, a smirk tugging on his lips, never failing to be amazed at the man's ability of rendering them all to errant boys. Size be damned – the crazy old geezer had a presence to fill a freakin' cathedral.

"Boss," they greeted. Makarov smiled.

"I'll have a talk with you in my office, Gajeel, if you're not otherwise occupied. Natsu...aren't you a little late for your new job?"

Glancing at the old clock on the wall, the pink haired man let out a yelp, practically falling over himself in surprise. Reaching for his shoes, he made a simultaneous grab for the last piece of bread on his plate, stuffing it in his mouth before making a mad dash for the exit.

"Sorry, Gramps!" he called over his shoulder, words muffled by food.

"Tuck in your shirt!" Makarov called after him, shaking his head when the entrance slammed shut behind him. "That boy..."

Gajeel smirked, but dropped it when his attention landed on his boss. Makarov looked oddly serious as he turned and strode into his office. Following in his wake, Gajeel closed the door behind him, but didn't bother to take a seat. Crossing his arms over his chest, he regarded the older man with a suspicious glare. Of the man's two offices, this was his least favourite to be called into. It served as a reminder that Makarov Dreyar was, when it all came down to it, a fat cat. The expensive tapestry and the mahogany desk – it was a far cry from the cluttered office in his speakeasy, but it was his office, regardless.

Dragging his eyes away from the offensively extravagant painting on the wall opposite, Gajeel's gaze came to land on his boss. Makarov smiled disarmingly, although it did little to remove the glower directed at him. "How are you holding up these days, my boy?"

Gajeel shrugged. "As good as ever."

"Been in the ring much lately?"

He felt his eye twitch at the subtle jab. "I've been busy," he ground out. Makarov smirked.

"Perhaps you should stop by one of these days. To relieve some stress? It'd do you good – you're about as relaxed as a strung wire."

"I'm _fine_, old man."

Makarov raised a brow, but didn't push further. And then the smile was gone, replaced with a serious expression he rarely wore around his children. "How is the situation with my son?"

_No beating around the bush, eh? _Gajeel grimaced. "Hard to tell – the man's too damn secretive. I haven't even figured out what he _wants _yet, other than your downfall, but that's a given."

Makarov sighed. "Yes, I'd gathered as much," he murmured with a shake off his head. A rueful smile tugged at his lips then. "You wonder what you do wrong, as a father, to have raised a son like that."

Not one for sentimentality, Gajeel snorted. "They guy's been bat-shit crazy from the start, Gramps. I don't think it had anything to do with you."

Makarov shrugged. "Perhaps not. Or perhaps it does. All I know is that he is a danger to my company and my children, and I will not allow him to succeed – whatever he is planning."

Gajeel nodded. "I'll continue to keep ya posted."

Makarov cracked a smile. "That is all well and good, my boy, but that was not what I called you in here for."

Gajeel frowned. "It wasn't?"

Makarov shook his head. "Your work as double-agent keeps you mostly occupied, but your constant absence and lack of menial jobs isn't sitting well with the others."

Gajeel closed his eyes, knowing where this was going. "Gramps–"

"Which is why," Makarov interrupted him sharply, before continuing pleasantly, "I have found you some extra work. That way, the others will get off your back, and my son will find nothing suspicious, should he choose to investigate what you actually _do _around here. Perhaps that is why he is withholding information form you – if you are under suspicion, you need to remove whatever doubts he may have."

Gajeel sighed, recognizing a losing battle, and nodded. "Fine. What've you got?"

Makarov's grin was strangely wicked. "Good call, my boy! And so little resistance – is my fatherly authority _finally _growing on you?"

"Whatever, old man. Just get it out. What is it? Lugging crates? Smuggling booze?"

The older man's smile never lost it's wicked edge, and Gajeel felt his brows furrow.

That look was _never_ good.

Turning to his desk, Makarov fished out a sheet of paper from his drawer, before handing it to Gajeel. Taking it, he turned it over and found the image of a young woman looking back at him. The photograph was old, the edges creased and the image unclear, but she looked young – sixteen, if not younger.

"Levy McGarden," Makarov began, as he rifled through the drawer. "Heir to the McGarden fortune – you've heard the name, yes?"

Gajeel nodded cautiously, not liking where his situation was going. "Yeah, the takeover scandal, right?"

Makarov nodded. "She's the only living heir to the name, but was left without a penny upon her father going into hiding a month ago."

Gajeel snorted. "Hiding? More like running away like a coward, from what I heard."

"Yes, well..." Makarov cleared his throat. "I've taken her under my wing for the moment, but sadly, as you know I have many duties, what with the company and the speakeasy..."

"No."

Makarov sighed. "I haven't even said what I want you to do."

Gajeel shook his head, handing the photograph back. "No way, Gramps. I know what you're going to say, and I'll tell you now - it ain't happening."

"Gajeel-"

"Sorry, old man," he said, shaking his head. "Double agent? That's fine. And I'll smuggle your liquor, and stack as many damn crates as you want, but I'm not playing lapdog to a spoiled little bitch." He turned to leave.

"Do you remember what you promised the day I let you join, Gajeel?"

Stopping in his tracks, Gajeel bit back a curse. _Damn it._

Turning back to his boss, he levelled the smaller man with a glower. "But why the hell me? Why can't the damn Salamander do it?"

"He is," Makarov said. "He is currently 'playing lapdog', as you so eloquently put it, to Lucy Heartfilia."

"Heartfilia?" Gajeel asked, genuinely surprised. The Heartfilias were the biggest fat cats of them all.

Makarov nodded. "The one and only," he sighed. "There doesn't seem to be a lack of neglectful fathers in this city," he murmured.

Gajeel raised a brow. "So...what? You're going to be a good one for all their neglected children?"

The older man grinned. "Of course! Anything for pretty young ladies!~"

Gajeel shook his head. "Damn lecher. You never change."

"And I pray that I never will," came the easy reply, before he retreated to his desk. "Now, the details are all on the sheet I gave you. You're to keep a close eye on her and make sure she's safe. Remember, there are those that would go to extreme lengths to secure that fortune," he said.

"Or what's left of it," Gajeel interjected. "Her old man left, didn't he? Who's to say there's any money at all? And didn't he lose the company?"

Makarov shrugged. "I do not know the exact details," he said, although Gajeel would bet all the clothes on his back that he did, in fact, know. Nothing happened in Magnolia that Makarov didn't know about, and a scandal the size of the McGarden mess wouldn't have gone by without people asking questions. Makarov probably knew much more than the exact details, but Gajeel knew his place well enough not to pry. Makarov was the business mogul, not him. He was told what he needed to be told, and he didn't need anything else.

"What I do know is that from this day, she is my daughter, and you will ensure her safety and happiness in my stead. She is a kind-hearted child, and you will swallow your dislike for the upper class and treat her as an equal, for she will surely do you the same justice."

Gajeel snorted, tucking the information into his pockets. "I highly doubt that."

Makarov grumbled, "Troublesome, the both of you. At least Natsu agreed with the promise of a free meal a day."

"Of course he would," Gajeel muttered.

"And _you_, Gajeel?"

The man in question was silent for a long moment, weighing his options. Not that he had any – not really. He owed the old man more than his loyalty, after all. More than his life, even. And what the boss says, goes.

"Fine. I'll babysit the damn brat. Happy now?"

Makarov smiled. "Yes," he said, before his expression turned serious. "Now, I hope you understand that by keeping her _safe_, I mean out of the way of your usual..._acquaintances._"

Gajeel resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. "No, old man, I'll take her posh ass down the Alleys first thing, introduce her to the guys. What are you, dense?" He shook his head. "I'll regret the hell out of this, but...I'll keep her safe."

"Good."

"But I ain't carrying her bags."

"It's not required of you."

"And I'll call her whatever I damn well want."

"As long as it is within the bounds of propriety," Makarov retorted. A moment of silence passed between them as they stared each other down, before Gajeel sighed.

"I guess I'll go pick her up, then," he said, turning to leave, hands tucked defiantly in his pockets. "Troublesome old fart," he grumbled.

"I heard that. And don't kick–"

Gajeel only smirked, kicking the door open as he strode out, the old man's voice drifting to him from within the office.

"–the door on your way out. Foolish boy!"

…

"_**And tuck in your shirt!"**_

* * *

It was safe to say, after meeting Levy McGarden, that Gajeel was not impressed.

In fact, as he watched the young woman across the street struggle with a suitcase that looked to be twice her size, cheeks flushed and the blue bob of hair – _blue_, he decided, was as ridiculous a colour as the pink the idiot sported on his head – a frizzled mess of tangles, and a far cry from the elegant up-dos that were so the fashion amongst the elite, Gajeel decided that Levy McGarden was about the most unimpressive woman he'd seen in a long time. She looked nothing short of ridiculous. And she was tiny as hell – he didn't even think she'd reach his shoulders. Stupid. Stupid and rich as hell – his two _favourite _things.

At her fifth and most pathetic attempt yet at lifting the case sitting at her feet, Gajeel decided that enough was enough – the boss would have his head if her arms snapped off on his watch.

"Oye," he called, striding across the street. She didn't appear to have heard him, however, as her attention was fully focused on the suitcase in front of her. His eye twitched. "_Oye_."

This time her head snapped up, a pair of large brown eyes meeting his, and he felt a twinge of satisfaction at the brief flash of trepidation that passed through them. He was about to open his mouth when she beat him to it.

"I'm a little busy here – I don't have...whatever it is you're going to ask for," she said, waving him off, and then her gaze was back on the suitcase again. Gajeel resisted the urge to growl. Insolent little punk! Did he look like a fucking _beggar_?

"The name's Gajeel – Makarov sent me to pick you up," he ground out. At the sound of the boss' name, her head snapped back up, and she opened her mouth, before closing it sharply.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

She at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "I apologize, I didn't–"

He stepped forward without preamble, grabbing the suitcase and hoisting it up, and managed to school his surprise into a neutral expression at the last second, because what the _hell _was she carrying in the damn thing? _Fucking bricks?_

She averted her gaze, before reaching a hand out, almost tentatively, fingers trembling ever so slightly. "U-um, I'm Levy," she stuttered out lamely. Gajeel resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but grasped her hand nonetheless. It was a quick, almost mechanical handshake, and he fought down the anger bubbling up at the sharp contrast of their hands – hers, small and pale and soft. _Clean _– the hand of a privileged child never having had to lift a finger in her life. And his – his were rough and calloused and _smudged _with dirt and grease, knuckles bruised and scarred from years in the ring. He snatched it back, clenching it against his side as he strode past her brusquely.

"You got anything else?" he called over his shoulder. He heard the patter of her heeled shoes as she jogged to catch up with him.

"No...no, that's all."

"Hn."

She fell in beside him as they walked towards their destination. From the wringing of her hands, she was nervous as hell, and she kept looking around them, as though searching for something. Tch. Probably expecting an automobile.

"We're walking," he snapped.

Her head shot up, eyes searching out his. "I didn't–" she began, but stopped herself...and then she surprised him by lifting her shoulders slightly, almost proudly. "I can walk," she declared, sounding almost offended. Gajeel snorted.

"Congratulations."

She huffed. "You're being very rude."

"Well, I ain't paid to be nice," he retorted.

"That doesn't mean you can't be civil," she said. "What's your problem, anyway?"

Looking down at her, Gajeel was surprised to find the shy little thing that had stuttered her sentences a mere minute ago had seemingly vanished. The girl walking beside him now was looking up at him with what was almost a glare, small hands clenched at her sides.

_Tch_.

He picked up his pace.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

"Your new home – the hell do you think I'm going? Try to keep up."

She ran to catch up with him, and to his surprise, reached out to grab onto his shirt. "Hey–"

"What?" he growled, shaking her hand off. Still holding it towards him, as though expecting something, she levelled him with what he assumed was an attempted glower.

"I can carry my own case," she said. He raised a brow.

"Really? This case?"

"Yes."

"The one you couldn't even lift an inch above the ground?"

"..."

"Tch. Don't get any _ideas, _woman – I ain't your damn packhorse. I'm carrying it now so I can get the hell home and eat. So shut yer trap and keep up," he said, before tightening his grip on the suitcase and beginning his trek anew. She remained where she stood for a few moments as he walked away from her. A moment of silence followed before her indignant voice reached his ears.

"I don't need a packhorse!"

Then she was beside him again, feet walking at a brusque pace to keep up. "And I didn't ask for _you _specifically, you know, so you can stop looking at me like I've ruined your day," she said. "I told Mister Makarov that I could find the way on my own. I don't _need _a bodyguard."

"Well, too bad, Shorty – you've got one," he retorted. She seethed, but fell silent as they made a curving trek across the inner city. He hadn't bothered to change after his chat with the boss, so they attracted more than a few stares, him with his untucked shirt and suspenders, and her with her expensive dress and coat. But she didn't pay the whispers any mind, and remained silent where she walked beside him, not too close but not too far away, either. Her presence had almost become bearable when she decided it was time to start yapping again.

"Where are we going?"

"I told ya –_your new home_. You deaf or something?"

She even had the gall to roll her eyes. "No, you're just annoyingly vague. Where is 'home'? Is it in the city?"

He smirked as he continued his easy pace, taking silent pleasure in her efforts to keep up. She didn't complain, though, which was a surprise, but she asked enough questions to make up for the _one _positive trait he'd managed to find.

After having walked for a good half-hour filled with 'can you at least tell me how far we're going?' and 'are you sure Mister Makarov sent you?', he came to a sudden stop. She walked a few more paces ahead before stopping, and looked back over her shoulder. "What?" she asked, eyes scanning the area dubiously. "_Here_?"

All around them rose the shambled buildings of the Alleys – the notorious outskirts of Magnolia. Clothes-lines criss-crossed above their heads and crates were stacked by the dozen all around them. A cat leaped across the street not two paces ahead of them, making her jump. Gajeel smirked.

"Close," he said, motioning to the mouth of the alley they were standing in front of. If she'd looked dubious before, now she looked torn between outright refusing or taking off running back towards the city proper. Gajeel grinned, and it probably did little to alleviate whatever uncertainties she was having.

"Ladies first," he mocked, stepping aside to let her pass, knowing she'd refuse, having probably never been near the Alleys in her life, let alone _i__n _a real one.

She surprised him, however, by striding past him, chin stuck in the air and with a soft 'hmpf'. He blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before shaking his head and following her into the alley, a glare pulling his pierced brows down. He didn't particularly like to be surprised, and unpredictable people annoyed the crap out of him. But he'd figure her out soon enough – it couldn't be that bloody hard. She was probably just keeping up an act, anyway, trying not to show weakness around him. Stubborn bitch.

From there their route took them down another alleyway, through a securely locked fence and into an almost perfectly hidden side-alley. He'd taken the lead after rounding the first corner, and despite all her previous bravado, she kept close, never taking her eyes off their surroundings. It almost made him laugh. If she'd known who he was, she'd know there were few people worse to meet in a dark alley than the one she was practically clinging to. Although it was probably a good thing she didn't know. One less problem for him, anyway – his job would've been a lot harder if she'd refused to come with him in the first place. And maybe if he did a good job babysitting her rich ass, the boss would let him off the hook earlier, or shove her onto someone else.

It was a nice thought.

Arriving at their destination, Gajeel stopped, and smirked as she almost ran into his back. "We're here," he stated simply, before knocking four consecutive times on the rusted door before him. The girl blinked, looking around them at the dark brick walls. There were no windows on this side of the building, and night had long since fallen. He knew his way with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back, but for one new to the Alleys, it probably looked like a dump.

"Here?" she asked, proving him right, and he grinned as the door opened before them, revealing the boss himself, a large smile on his bearded face. Whatever she'd been about to say seemed to fall off her tongue as she stood there, gaping like a fish at the unexpected picture. For the boss was dressed in one of his horrifyingly flamboyant outfits – a far cry from the professional garb she had probably become used to see on him. A brightly coloured cotton shirt with a glaring silk vest, and on his head, a hat that might have been classy, if it hadn't been _orange_.

"Ah, Levy my dear, you've arrived safe and sound!" he greeted amiably, eyes crinkling with humour. From behind him, the rich tunes of a saxophone reached their ears, as well as rowdy laughter and the clinking of glasses. Gajeel knew what awaited her on the inside would be nothing like what she'd expect, coming from her part of town. There was no 'Prohibition' in their world, not on alcohol, and certainly not on behaviour.

Makarov grinned, and the roar of noise from behind him seemed to underline his next words.

"Welcome to Fairy Tail!"

* * *

AN: You like? Please let me know what you think!


	2. blind pigs

AN: First of all, I want to thank those that reviewed the first chapter for the positive feedback – it really urged me into continuing this, and as this is my first attempt at an AU of any kind, the love was very heartening for this fretting writer's soul. You know who you are, awesome people! Secondly, I have officially discovered the joy of 1920s slang and may have gone a bit overboard, but I've added a list of terms at the bottom for those that aren't self-explanatory. Happy reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter II**

If asked, Levy McGarden could not have found an answer to how she had ended up in her current predicament.

Of course, it hadn't been by complete accident. Makarov had been an old friend of the family, after all, and upon her father's...disappearance...he had offered her a roof over her head. And she had said _yes_ without much thought on the matter – who wouldn't, to one of the most respected men in the city, and the owner of one of the biggest companies in Fiore?

That he should turn out to be connected to one of the most notorious speakeasies in Magnolia had been nothing short of a complete shock.

"M-master Makarov! W-what...?" she heard herself asking, voice an unnaturally high pitch and eyes shifting rapidly to the sides and to the open doorway where muffled music was floating out into the night, along with the sound of people and laughter. The old man's grin widened at her abject confusion, and he seemed to find it endearing.

"You didn't think the company was all I had, did you, my girl?" he asked, eyes crinkling in a smile, as though genuinely amused at her surprise. "This is, how shall I put it...my 'hobby', if you will," he said with a wink. Levy blinked.

"Oh. So...you frequent speakeasies?" she asked, hoping he wasn't going to say what she feared he was. Many of her father's former business partners visited speakeasies behind each others backs and without the knowledge of their wives. But visiting illegal bars was one thing...

"Frequent, my dear?" he guffawed, throwing his head back before flashing her a proud grin. "Why, I'm the _owner_!"

...

She assumed she must look something like a fish out of water, standing before the man she'd only ever seen in professional situations – luncheons with her father and such, and the occasional birthday. In her memories he was such a proper, kind old man. Quiet and wise – like the grandfather she'd never had the privilege of knowing. She'd never pegged him for a man who'd even _consider_ visiting an illegal bar, let alone _run_ one.

"Oye, woman – you going to stand there all night?" the gruff voice of her..._escort_, if his behaviour towards her even warranted that title...broke her out of her reverie, and she blinked, eyes shooting up to meet glaring red ones and an expression that was anything but pleasant. She huffed, a little embarrassed at being caught gaping in such an undignified fashion.

"I was caught off guard, as _someone_ neglected to share a certain piece of information on the way over here," she quipped, flattening her gloved hands against her skirt to brush off imaginary dust, the action punctuating her clipped tone, before taking a step towards the smiling man in the open doorway. The one carrying her suitcase snorted, and her gaze snapped back in time to see him smirk in that infuriating way of his.

"Like you'd have come along if you knew? 'Sides, you wouldn't stop yappin' long enough for me to say anything," he retorted, eyes intense behind furrowed brows. Levy only raised her chin in defiance, fuming silently as she kept her gaze firmly on his. It wasn't at all proper, talking back to a man in such a manner, but to her defence, he'd done nothing to warrant anything but open hostility and the occasional cheek.

"I see you two are getting along nicely," the voice from the doorway said, amusement colouring it's warm tone, and both heads snapped towards the older man.

"Master Makarov–"

"Please, my girl – no need for titles here," he assured with a wink, and she felt her cheeks colour, feeling suddenly and thoroughly out of her depth. Makarov stepped aside to let them in, and she hesitated a split second before taking the first step, wondering what was awaiting her inside. She'd never been to a speakeasy in her life – her father would have thrown a fit at the mere _mention_ – and now she was under the protection of the owner of not just a speakeasy, but the most infamous of them all? Even she – in all her sheltered glory – had heard about Fairy Tail, although why it had such an absurd name was beyond just about everyone. But she'd heard numerous stories, whispered by the daughters of her father's investors. Stories of their rowdy clientèle and their escapades. Whether it was all make-believe or fact, she didn't know. But supposedly, it was the most sought-after gin mill in Magnolia – both for its liquor and for its entertainment. But speakeasies were illegal for a _reason_ – hadn't she always reminded herself of that? People who frequented such places...the outcasts of society...

What had she gotten herself into?

"S'not getting any warmer out here – move yer ass, would ya?" came the growled remark from behind her, and she'd barely had time to become appalled before a well-placed fist had the boorish man clutching his nose in pain.

"The fuck, old man?" he griped through the hand covering his face, and Levy had to bite down on her lip to hide her smile. Makarov – for all his short stature – seemed to tower over the both of them.

"That is no way to address a lady, Gajeel – have I taught you _nothing_?"

The man – Gajeel, she reminded herself – growled. "I swear, old man, one day–"

"Yes, yes, you'll pay me back," Makarov waved him off lazily. "When you can successfully predict my attacks, that is. For now, you'll watch your mouth around the young lady, no?"

Levy smiled. "It's quite alright, Mast– Mr. Makarov," she assured him with a smile, shooting a sidelong glance at the brute beside her. "I can handle his tongue."

A vicious smirk tugged at his lips at her remark, just too late for her to realize the implications of her words, and she felt her cheeks flare with colour. "I doubt that," came the low rumble as he wiped the blood from his nose, and suddenly she felt quite ready to escape inside, whatever awaited her.

Anything to get away from those eyes.

"Gajeel – please take Levy's case to her room. Second floor, next to Erza's," Makarov announced, breaking the tension as he offered his arm. "If you would come inside," he said, his smile warm and disarming, and she was reminded that although some of it might have all been an act, he was still the Makarov she remembered. A soft smile tugging at her lips, she took the offered arm and followed him inside the old building. From behind her, the ruffian grumbled something unintelligible as he hoisted her suitcase over his shoulder, before following suit. Passing through a winding sort of hallway and heading towards a red door at its end, she heard the heavy lock of the entrance slam shut behind them, and figured there was really nowhere else to go but forward.

But it didn't need to be so bad, did it? After all, what little she knew about illegal bars were based solely upon _rumours_, and she'd never actually been to one herself. For all she knew, it didn't need to be the picture she had in her mind – a picture of debauchery and wild-looking men and women participating in immoral activities. Perhaps it was a nice place.

In the end, though, no comforting thought had managed to prepare her for what awaited her beyond the door.

'Rowdy' was a gross understatement to the complete and utter _chaos_ that greeted her upon her entrance. An explosion of colour and sound assaulted her senses, and it was like she'd stepped through a door to another _world_, and not just a room in some strange building.

It was...it was...

"Hey, old man! New shipment came in today – let's celebrate!"

"Get off the floor, you damn cement mixer! You're embarrassing me!"

"Mira! Play us another one!"

It was _amazing_.

"I'm glad you think so, my girl," the man beside her said with a grin, and she noticed – to her embarrassment – that she'd voiced her thoughts out loud. Makarov's eyes crinkled with warmth, and he was about to open his mouth to speak when the arrival of someone on his elbow had him stopping.

"Boss," a melodious voice greeted, and looking up at the interruption, Levy felt her breath hitch in her throat, eyes widening as she took in the pale haired beauty before her, elegantly dressed in the provocative fashion she herself hadn't yet dared even _consider_ trying on (her biggest act of rebellion had been to bob her hair, and even that had felt like an overly liberal action at the time).

"Mirajane Strauss!" she almost exhaled in awe.

The beauty smiled warmly. "Oh? You know my name?" she asked, her lilted voice as pretty as Levy remembered it being. She nodded dumbly, almost dazedly, before a smile broke out on her face, and she shook her head to clear it.

"I heard you sing, once. Before...well, you know," she murmured, averting her gaze. It had been accidental – she'd simply entered the establishment to escape from the rain, but there she'd been – the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen, and with the most beautiful voice. To say she'd been enthralled was an understatement.

Then the ban had been enforced, and the name 'Mirajane' had vanished from the whispers of high society.

"She is indeed a talented artist – perhaps you will perform for us later?" Makarov asked. Mirajane smiled at the compliment, and in the presence of such...elegance, there really was no better word for it – Levy suddenly felt very conscious of her unruly state of dress and hair.

She didn't have time to dwell on the thought, however, as she suddenly found herself pushed forward and into the throng of people.

"Try to socialise a bit while I have a chat with Mira, Levy dear," Makarov said with a wink, before turning to walk off with the songstress. Mira waved a graceful good-bye, to which Levy could only wave back lamely.

And then she was alone.

Looking around nervously, she suddenly felt very lonely, despite the room being packed with people. She'd never been one for socialising, anyway, having preferred the solitude of her father's library to the parties of which the other girls had been so fond. And if _those_ had been difficult – with all their proper behaviour and strict norms – she had no idea how to handle the sudden _lack_ thereof. And if she'd ever entertained ideas of her rebellious haircut, any such thoughts seemed ridiculous compared to the women around her, openly smoking and drinking along with the men, dressed in silks and pearls and skirts so _short_ Levy felt like an old maid in comparison. Looking down at her floor-length frock in all its practical glory, she found herself feeling oddly...inadequate.

"You lost, sweetheart?" came the husky voice from behind her, and she turned to see another face she'd never thought she'd find in such a place.

"C-Cana Clive?"

At the sound of her name, the woman frowned. "Oye, that's Alberona around these parts–" she stopped, blinking, before recognition broke out of her face, along with an enormous grin. "I'll be damned – Levy McGarden!" she hollered, throwing her arms around the smaller woman.

"How've you been, doll?" she asked, before shifting her eyes to the sides quickly and murmuring, "I heard about the...well, _you know_. How you holdin' up?"

Levy could only gape as she found herself staring down the provocatively dressed form of a woman she'd never seen in anything but modest skirts and blouses. "Wh–" she stopped herself, before shaking her head. _"What are you doing here?_"

Cana grinned. "Surprised? Well, I guess you would be," she said with a shrug. "I own this joint. Well, not in its _entirety_, of course, but I'm in charge of the hooch, so that makes it a little mine," she said with a wink. Levy shook her head – mind processing a mile a minute.

"Wait a minute – you're a _bootlegger?_"

A snort from behind drew their attention, and Levy jumped as Gajeel stepped up beside them, hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his teeth. "That would be _the_ bootlegger," he said, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. Cana grinned.

"Seems you've gotten yourself quite the little bearcat, Redfox – what, smuggling not exciting enough for ya?" she asked, to which Levy felt her face heat up in mortification. At her expression, Cana laughed, and not the polite quirk of the lips Levy was used to, but rambunctious laughter brash enough to rival the men around them.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, doll! I'm only teasing," she said. "Oye, Redfox – butt me, would ya?"

The man glared, grumbling as he pulled out a cigarette and tossing it to Cana who caught it expertly, and Levy found herself unable to look away.

Cana was a flapper. The demure and proper daughter of the Clive family was a _flapper_.

"Cana...does your father know about...well, _this_?" she asked, to which the brunette burst out laughing again – the sound deep and throaty. Wiping the corners of her eyes, she blew out a mournful of smoke from the corner of her mouth, raising her brows suggestively at the smaller woman.

"Honey, Pa's one of the main investors of the boss' company – what do _you_ think?" she asked with another wink, grinning wickedly, and Levy felt like her entire world was spinning out of control. Not only Makarov, but Gildarts Clive as well? Was there _anyone_ that ran a decent business in this town?

"Oye, Redfox!" the shout called for their companion's attention, and with a sharp look at Levy, as though saying 'don't go anywhere', he stalked off into the crowd. She felt her anger spike at the patronizing gesture, feeling very much like a child under supervision.

"Got yourself quite the fire extinguisher there, eh? Never thought he'd agree to it, but I guess the boss has his ways," Cana said, taking a long drag from her cigarette. Levy glared after the man with a soft huff, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't need a watchdog."

Cana raised a brow. "If the boss says you do, you do," she said with a shrug.

"But–"

She held a hand up. "That's the rule 'round these parts – learn them. I don't question the old man's judgement, and you should learn to do the same," she said, a smirk pulling at her lips. "'Sides, you should be thankful – that 'watchdog' is pretty much the safest bet you have of keeping out of trouble. And he's not too hard on the eyes either," she quipped with a wink, which had Levy's cheeks flaring with colour again and sending Cana into a burst of laughter that had the eyes of more than one man turning their way appreciatively. Levy turned her own eyes away, wishing the ground would swallow her up, but the brunette didn't seem to mind the attention.

"No, in all seriousness, doll, if the big cheese says you're not safe, then I'd take his word for it," Cana said, expression suddenly serious as she pointed the butt of her cigarette at the smaller woman.

Levy frowned, and felt the need to stomp her foot. "But...but why _him_?" she asked, motioning across the room to where Gajeel stood with his back to them.

Cana smirked. "He may look like a rag-a-muffin, but he's about the toughest ass this gin mill's got," she said with a shrug. "Used to be a torpedo for the mob, you know? You'd be a fool to mess with him, and people _know_ that."

For what felt like the umpteenth time that evening, Levy could only gape. _Torpedo_?

For the _mob_?_!_

Allowing her gaze to shift across the room, she took in the tense shoulders, taking notice that despite his distinctly dishevelled attire, there were cords of muscle under the smudged white shirt, and that in contrast to the men around him, he towered a good six feet above the ground. His style of dress was a far cry from the elegant wear of the other men as well, what with his rough boots and the suspenders strapped across his broad shoulders – although they did little good, as his pants hung much too low on his hips to be anything but indecent. His hair was _long_, too – an oddity in and of itself – and was gathered in a cord low on his neck.

Now that she really looked, he appeared every bit the part of a torpedo, and she could only imagine the little effort needed to snap the necks of his victims...and the smile on his face as he did his boss' dirty work...

"See anythin' you like?" the suggestive voice of her companion broke her out of her reverie, but Levy barely heard her, eyes wide and staring at the man that now had her life in his hands.

"How exactly am I safe with a man like that?" she squeaked. Cana only grinned.

"Well, doll, let's just put it this way," she said, slinging an arm around Levy's shoulders as she motioned towards Gajeel. "There are few people out there more dangerous than Gajeel Redfox." Patting her on the back, the boisterous brunette flashed her another winning smile.

"He's also one of the boss' most trusted men. Keep that in mind when you get the jitters," she said with another wink, and Levy nodded dumbly, as she couldn't for the life of her take her eyes off the man now.

Well, perhaps it wasn't _that_ bad. If Makarov trusted him...and maybe Cana was right, he _was_ easy on the eyes...once you got past the dirt and the fact that his shirt wasn't tucked in.

And as though he could tell he was being watched, a pair of red eyes shifted to meet hers. The smug smile on his face spoke volumes, and suddenly, her fears evaporated like steam upon the air, replaced by the simmering anger from her trek across the city. The _nerve_ of the man! To assume she – she! – would so much as...as show him any kind of interest other than abject _repulsion_! It was ridiculous! Thoroughly, wholly–

"You alright there, Levy? You're looking a little flushed."

"It's all the bee's knees," she ground out, jaw tight and gloved hands clenched tightly at her sides. Turning sharply on her heel, she addressed the brunette, "You said you were in charge of the alcohol? Well, I want a drink," she declared.

Cana raised a brow, cigarette poised between her fingers as an amused expression settled on her face. "A drink, eh?" Her eyes swept up and down her form in one fluid motion, one brow quirking upwards. "You sure you're up for that, doll? I ain't ever seen you drink anything stronger than tea."

Levy resisted the urge to huff. "Just give me something," she said, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. Cana only smiled as she walked off, hips swaying in a way that had the men around them stopping in their tracks, and leaving Levy by herself again, seething quietly.

No. Levy McGarden could definitely not answer how she had ended up where she was, in a crowd of strange and dangerous people, in an illegal bar in the shadiest part of Magnolia. And suddenly, she didn't feel angry at all, but very, very tired. Sighing heavily, she looked around for somewhere to take a seat when a shadow fell across her form. Looking up, she met mocking red eyes with a stare of her own. "What do you want?" she snapped.

Gajeel snorted. "The hell's eating you _now_? Place not agreeing with your posh ass?"

The insult struck something within her, but she pushed the feeling back. "It's just a lot to take in at once, but I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand," she muttered.

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "Ya think this is a lot to take in? This is nothin' on a busy night," he retorted, and Levy didn't know whether to be curious or completely dejected. She felt like she'd run a great stretch – like all the energy had been sapped from her system and left her hollow and vulnerable.

And the man hovering a good two feet above her wasn't helping in the least.

"Do you have to do that?" she asked, some of her fatigue seeping into her voice despite her efforts of appearing unaffected.

"Do what?"

She sighed. "_That_. Standing there, _hovering_. I know you don't want to babysit me, so you're free to run along and...do whatever it is you do around here for fun," she said, waving him off as she attempted to locate a chair.

He snorted as though she'd said something particularly funny. "Pipe down that attitude, Shorty. I already have a boss, and he said to keep you out of trouble, so quit your complaining."

She glared. "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah? Like you could lift that suitcase?"

"..."

He grinned, and she felt like slapping him, or storming off. "You...you..." she seethed, pointing a trembling finger at him, but for all the languages she spoke, she couldn't for the life of her find a fitting insult. "Oooh! You're a piece of work!"

"You're not the cat's pyjamas either, midget."

"Rag-a-muffin!"

"But maybe the flapper was right – you're a bit of a bearcat," he said with a gleaming grin.

Levy opened her mouth, but snapped it shut, and was about to turn around when Cana made her reappearance, a drink in her hand.

"Sorry for the hold-up – Mira usually handles the bar, but she seems to have gone off somewhere," she said, handing the glass to Levy, who didn't hesitate in downing the whole thing in one go, which probably hadn't been the best idea, as she felt like throwing it all back up a second later. Resisting the urge to cough violently, she handed the glass back, never taking her eyes off Gajeel.

"The ladies' room," she all but choked out, ignoring the fact that she felt like coughing up a lung. Cana pointed wordlessly to the back of the establishment, a dubious look on her face, but Levy turned on her heel sharply, pushing through the throng of people and heading towards the door on the far end of the room without preamble. Her throat burned like fire and tears pressed at the backs of her eyes, but she pushed on, shouldering her way through the crowd despite her small size, before finally reaching the door and escaping inside.

The mirror that greeted her upon her entrance was the last drop, and suddenly, tears were running unheeded down her flushed face. Her hair was a _mess_, and there were smudges on her face and her dress from their trip through the alleyways. She looked _nothing_ like herself – nothing like the good, proper young woman her father had been so _proud_ of. She...she looked like she belonged in the Alleys. Like a girl out of one of her favourite novels – poor as a church rat and begging on corners for money.

And if having to move out of her home hadn't been enough of a reminder that she didn't belong in her old world anymore, this was like a slap to the face.

Leaning her back against the wall, she slid to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and noticing with a small whine that her new stockings were ripped and torn. The fingers of her gloves – which were smudged with dirt and grime – were soaked with her attempts at stopping the never-ending flow of tears, and she sniffed pathetically. Honestly, what was wrong with her? She never lost her temper like she did around...around _that_ _man._ She'd been raised better than that. She'd been raised to take just about anything with her chin held high and her shoulders squared, but there was something about him that had her forgetting almost twenty years of etiquette and manners. And the worst out of everything that had happened since he'd picked her up – everything from the speakeasy to Makarov and Cana turning out to be someone entirely different that the people she'd thought she knew – was that she couldn't make herself hate it. Returning his banter felt...liberating, in a way she had never before experienced. Here was a man who didn't treat her like a delicate little thing to be put on a pedestal and admired. He didn't compliment her on everything. Hell, he didn't compliment her on anything _at_ _all,_ and he treated her like...like he'd treat a man. Or a living, personal insult to his very existence.

And she liked it. And she hated it. And she hated _him, _for being such an ass, judging her every move, her every comment, just because she came from wealth? Who did he think he was?

Wiping roughly at her eyes, Levy willed herself to calm down. Her pulse was racing a mile a minute, and there was a strange buzz at the back of her mind. The alcohol, no doubt. She'd never had a sip in her life – what had she been _thinking_, downing that glass like it was water? She hadn't even known what it was!

"This place is driving me insane," she muttered into her hands, rubbing her temples to soothe the headache she could feel coming on. Exhaustion was pulling her down, but she willed in back, refusing to fall asleep on the floor of a bathroom in a shady place run by people who lied about who they really were. And then there was Gajeel Redfox. Her new personal _bodyguard_. She groaned at the thought, resting her aching head against her knees.

A sharp rap on the door had her nearly jumping out of her skin, and she yelped as the door was pushed open roughly, revealing none other than the source of her inner turmoil, who didn't seem to mind that he was bursting into a private area.

"Oye."

She sniffed, turning her narrowed eyes on his looming form in the doorway. "_Ladies_' room tell you anything?" she snapped, surprised as the comment came almost like a reflex.

He rolled his eyes. "I told ya I'd keep an eye on you," he reminded her. "That means ya can't just run off wherever ya bloody feel like it."

"Oh, so I can't even _go_ by myself now?" she snapped, cheeks colouring at her audacity of even mentioning something like that in front of a man such as him. His resulting grin was nothing short of wicked.

"Should teach your posh ass a thing or two," he growled, before his grin vanished abruptly. "Boss says you can get some sleep if you want. I'll show you where."

She fumed at his casual change of topics and attitude – so _cold_, while she sat fuming! – but inhaled deeply through her nose, schooling her expression into one of neutral calm. "I can find the way on my own, thank you."

He snorted. "On your first time in this place? Fat chance, Shorty. I'm taking ya, end of discussion. Now do yer business so I can get some damn rest," he snapped, shouldering his way back out the door.

She crossed her arms over her chest in defiance, but resisted the urge to kick her feet and throw a fit like a child. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she rose to her feet, brushing herself off quickly and taking one long look at her disastrous reflection before following suit, chin held high.

There was no way she was going to let that man get the better of her. She would show him. She would adapt to this place, and she'd _prove_ she wasn't just another helpless heiress out of her depth.

She was Levy McGarden, and she wasn't about to let some brazen hoodlum seemingly raised by a pack of wolves get the upper hand. Because she'd been raised in high society, and if Gajeel Redfox assumed her an ignorant waif then he would be surprised, because although not used to the squalor and general brashness of Magnolia's underworld, she had grown up in a world full of lies and deceit. Glamoured into seeming the bee's knees for the ones lucky enough to find themselves born into it, the upper class was not unlike the gangsters ruling the Alleys.

The only difference was that they had nicer suits.

Exiting the ladies' room, Levy strode towards her appointed bodyguard, conscious of the stares she was attracting, tear-streaked face on full display for the entirety of Fairy Tail's clientèle. He was waiting for her at the foot of a staircase located the the other end of the room from the toilets, arms crossed over his chest and a glare etched sharp on his face, his entire posture screaming a challenge for anyone to dare approach him.

"You done weepin' yer eyes out?" came the gruff question upon her arrival, mockery dripping from his words. Levy sniffed indignantly as she stopped before the man she had become dependent on without quite being asked what she thought about it – or even it she'd wanted it.

But what the boss says, goes, and she would just have to deal with it.

"My room?" was all she asked, trying to appear nonchalant. His smirk was befitting of the devil himself, and he snorted.

"Sorry – you're not my type."

Levy inhaled deeply, drawing on all her years of being a woman in a chauvinistic, male-dominated society to let the comment slide without slapping him. "He said the second floor, right? I'll just start walking, then."

He caught her wrist as she passed him, and her eyes snapped to his, brown meeting red in a fierce clash of wills. "Listen up," he growled low in his throat, and for the life of her, she couldn't stop the stab of fear at the look on his face. It settled somewhere behind her ribs, clenching around her heart like a vice, and suddenly she was deathly afraid she had overstepped some kind of line.

"I didn't ask for this," he muttered darkly, motioning to the both of them. "In fact, I'd much rather be _anywhere_ _else_. Women like you _disgust_ me, and the fact that I have to watch yer arrogant, rich little ass when I could be doing other things – _important_ things – is pissing me off. So here's a piece of advice, Shorty. Stop yer damn yapping, quit the self-righteous attitude, and get the fuck over yourself. This ain't a world for weepy little shits – you can take my word for that."

Then he released her, striding past her brusquely. "Get moving, I ain't got all night," he called back over his shoulder.

She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stop the frustrated tears stinging her eyes as well as keep down the sob that had lodged itself in her throat. Her hand trembled uncontrollably, and as she brushed her fingers against her wrist she winced at the sharp pain that blossomed up the length of her arm. His grip had felt a hairsbreadth away from snapping the bone, and it had taken all her willpower not to cry out.

Pulling the sleeve of her blouse down to cover what would undoubtedly be a very nasty bruise, she sniffed, wiping fiercely at her eyes as she followed his heavy footsteps up the stairs. When she reached the second floor, he was waiting at the end of the corridor, looking impatient, but that was hardly a surprise. She walked past him, eyes averted but stance defiant, reaching for the doorknob in a silent jab at society's norms, although she doubted a man like him even bothered with frivolous traditions like holding doors open for ladies.

Swinging open, the door revealed a comfortably sized bedroom. Simple but nicely furnished, it was the first sign of familiarity and comfort she'd seen all day, and the thought made an unbidden lump form in her throat. Before she could dwell more on the thought, Gajeel's voice cut through the quiet.

"Oh, yeah, the boss said to tell you – you'll be sharin' the room," he said from behind her just as her eyes came to rest on the form of a woman on the other end of the room, standing tall and with an expression of abject surprise that mirrored her own. Her blonde hair was out of its usually elaborate up-do, and she was in a man's shirt and trousers, but Levy would have recognized her anywhere. And suddenly, her anger was forgotten, gone in a flash along with her fears and the chaos that had been her first meeting with her new life. And propriety be _damned_, because she honestly couldn't care less as she all but threw herself forward and into a pair of familiar arms.

"_**Lucy!"**_

* * *

AN: And there you have it! I'd love to know your thoughts on the story so far, so feel free to drop a comment. And a short note for the curious: the image Cana presents for the upper class is a lot like her Edolas counterpart, if anyone is wondering why Levy is so surprised.

Next up: Iron Fist Gajeel hasn't been in the ring in a while, and rumour has it he's gotten a little rusty. It's time to visit some old friends.

**gin mill:** another name for an illegal drinking establishment.

**the bee's knees/the cat's pyjamas: **an extraordinary person/thing/idea.

**hooch: **alcohol

**flapper:** modern young women who bobbed their hair, dressed in short skirts, smoked, drank and drove automobiles.

**bearcat: **a hot-blooded or fiery girl

**fire extinguisher: **chaperone


	3. sweet science

AN: Warning: Shirtlessness. And manliness.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter III **

Women, Gajeel decided, were nothing but troublesome.

Dropping the butt of his cigarette on the pavement, he stamped it out with the toe of his boot before crossing the nearly empty street. There were no automobiles out this early, and he took a moment to relish in the quiet so rarely found in this part of the city. It wasn't half bad in the early morning light, but then again, that was probably for the lack of over-privileged brats running around.

Speaking of over-privileged brats...

Apparently, the old man had decided it prudent to settle the tiny woman he'd been saddled with in the same room as the idiot's blonde protege, and the result had been a goddamn bigger headache than the one he'd already felt coming on. And as if the feisty little wench wasn't rich enough, the McGarden fortune in its entirety wasn't_half_ the worth of the nest the blonde one was sitting on. According to the boss, the Heartfilia-girl had run away from home, although why someone would willingly run away _to_ the Alleys was beyond the comprehension of anyone who'd grown up in it. Not that he'd have wanted a life like hers anyways, so maybe it was a little understandable. He didn't care overly much, though, as long as the idiot did his job and kept her out of his way. He had enough with his own burden, snappy as she came.

He also knew he shouldn't have left without her – boss' orders being what they were, but he'd be damned if he couldn't have one bloody moment to himself. There hadn't been set a specific time to how long his babysitting duties were going to last, but going by the looks of things, the old man had no plans of relieving him of his duty any time soon. And it wasn't like she couldn't handle herself for a few minutes – she wouldn't leave the 'pig without him, for one, and there was only so much trouble she could stir up over there on her own.

'Sides, girls like that probably didn't get up before noon, anyways, and he'd be done and home long before that.

Holding back a yawn, he stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, sauntering towards his intended destination. The sun was slowly coming up, and a few more early risers had appeared around him, bustling about and doing their business. No one paid him any mind, and that was how he liked it.

It didn't take him long to reach the gym. Nicknamed 'The Pit', it was located in the basement of an old sweatshop in the outskirts of the city proper. It was old and dingy, but it had produced more than its fair share of talents throughout the years. Hell, he'd been in and out of its doors since he'd thrown his first punch in an alley fight and discovered his propensity for boxing, and had kept on training there long after he'd earned a name for himself. After his dad had up and left him, it'd been a home he could run to when the going got tough.

And somewhere in his black, cynical heart it remained that even now.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Gajeel felt his brows pull down into a frown. He'd walked this path a hundred times and knew it practically in his sleep, but finally standing outside the familiar building and the stone staircase leading down into its lower levels, he was reminded of how long it had been since he'd last stepped foot inside.

"About damn time," he muttered, although hesitation held him back. A part of him longed for the prospect of releasing a bit of tension – Lord knew he had enough of it these days – but another part was holding him back, reminding him that other things came first. If he got back into the business, it would be hard backing out again, and he had other priorities, other responsibilities that demanded his full attention.

...then again, the old man had recommended it himself, so a few rounds in the ring or with the bag couldn't hurt. Maybe he'd even get a match and earn some cash. Other than what he earned between the two companies – which wasn't much, although you wouldn't think so with all the crap the two generations of Dreyar had him doing – he didn't have much to his name save the clothes on his back and few personal items, like the old gun his father had left him. So yeah, some cash would be nice. And a good match could earn him quite a sum, if the night was good and he got his hands on a good promoter.

And if his name still carried the weight it used to, of course.

Snorting, he trudged down the run-down steps towards the double doors at the end, pushing through them with little effort despite their weight. The smell that greeted him upon his entrance had a smirk tugging at his lips – sweat, rust and that unidentifiable thing that had been there for as long as he could remember, but that no one had ever discovered exactly what was.

The smell of home.

Going by the noise coming from within, someone had already beat him to the punch, and there was only one person Gajeel knew that would be up before the crack of dawn to train. A smile pulled his lips into a grin, and he quickened his pace towards the second doorway, pulling open the dirty old curtain that covered it and ducking through the entrance.

"Oye, Lily!"

Walking into the large open space that served as the training grounds for the underworld's hired arms and prizefighters, Gajeel grinned at the sight of his old friend, busy hammering away at a patched up old bag hanging precariously from the ceiling. At the sound of his name, the man, whose sheer height and stature could rival even Gajeel himself, stopped what he was doing. Built like a bull but with the grace of a damn cat, 'Lily the Panther' was amongst the best Magnolia had to offer in the ring. Contrary to his slightly sissy name, but Gajeel knew from experience not to mention _that_ unless he wanted a sound pummelling.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Lily grinned at the sight of him. "Well, well. The prodigal son returns," he joked, giving the bag one final punch and nearly sending it swinging off its hinges, the rusted chain from which it hung giving off a long whine. Turning fully towards Gajeel, he opened his arms wide.

"What brings you down this path, my friend? Bootlegging finally lost its charm?" he asked, a humorous glint in his eyes. Gajeel snorted, accepting the offered hand and giving his old mentor a rough but friendly pat on the back, putting in a little more force than necessary. Lily laughed, rolling his shoulder as he pulled back and wincing in mock-hurt. Scooping a cup of water out of a rusted bucket on the floor, he took a long swig, before dunking the rest over his head and shaking the hair out of his eyes.

"So how's life treating you?" he asked as he grabbed a towel to wipe his face. He must have found something in his expression, because his prominent brows furrowed in a questioning look. "That bad, huh?"

Gajeel snorted. "Nah, it's fine. Makarov's folks are a bunch of nutters, but there's nothing new there."

Lily raised a brow. "You do realize that includes _you_ too, right?"

"Shaddup."

Lily held up his hands. "Hey, just stating a fact. Whether you admit it or not is another thing. And hell, it's not like I'm complaining or anything – you're a lot less grouchy than when you ran with Jose," he said. Gajeel rolled his eyes.

"Jose was an idiot."

Lily smirked. "And Makarov?"

"A bossy old pervert, but he's not stupid. And the hooch is good."

Lily shook his head. "Keep telling yourself that's why you're smuggling for him and maybe you'll even believe it yourself one day."

"You haven't lost your sense of humour."

His friend laughed, cracking his knuckles. "And you have yet to find yours. But be honest, what brings you down here? I thought you were busy 'being busy' up high street," he said. Gajeel shook his head.

"Still busy – old man just saddled me with a crap job, and I need to let off some steam before I accidentally pummel one of his brats," he retorted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It didn't matter that the old man regarded _him_ as one of those brats – like he'd told him more times than he could count, he just wasn't.

And what kind of crazy old geezer went around adopting every lost kid that crossed his path, anyways?

Lily's grin mimicked his. "Well, you are looking a little tense. Want to go ballistic on the equipment?" he asked, looking around the room, a frown on his face. "Not that there's a lot in good condition, but nothing's changed there, I guess."

Gajeel snorted, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. "When I started, they didn't even have the bags, so I'm good, but if you've got what it takes I'd take a round in the ring," he said, a wicked smile punctuating the open challenge. Lily looked sceptical, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You haven't seen the inside of the ring in _months_, and you think you can take me on easy as that?" he asked, doubt so interlaced with jest it was hard to tell them apart, but he was already moving towards the training ring. Gajeel snapped off his suspenders, dropping them haphazardly on the floor as he picked up a roll of bandages to wrap his hands.

"You sure you don't need to warm up, rookie?" Lily called over to him.

"Oye, watch what you're saying, old man – you've got ten years on me. I'd say _your_ health is the one in trouble," he retorted, tightening the wrap around his right hand before starting on the left.

Lily snorted. "That's right** – **_ten years_, and I've kept my game up, unlike _someone_."

Flexing his hands, Gajeel stretched his shoulders, grimacing slightly at the stiffness. Lily was right – it had been a long time since he'd last been in the ring. Too long.

But, no time like the present, or however that saying went.

Ducking under the ropes, he jogged a bit on the spot to get his blood pumping. It felt good being in the ring – like coming home after a long journey, and Lily always promised a good fight. The day was definitely looking up.

"Ready to get your ass handed to you, old man?" he quipped, smiling wickedly.

Lily snorted, throwing his towel across the stool in his corner. "Keep dreaming. I'll go easy on you first round – wouldn't want to kill you when you've finally dragged your ass down here," he said, a distinctly cat-like smile stretching across his scarred face as he threw a pair of old gloves towards his friend.

Catching them expertly, Gajeel slipped them on, eagerness rising within him at the familiar feeling. Tightening the strings with his teeth, he turned to fully face his opponent. "It's been a while."

Lily tapped his own together, eyes glinting. "Let's see how rusty you've become, Iron Fist," he mocked. Gajeel snorted.

"Bring it, puss."

They circled each other, taking their time and grinning like troublesome kids. And Gajeel realized that, even if he was about to get his ass handed to him – because Lily was, if anything, a damn good fighter – then it was worth every beating. Because being in the ring was being _alive_.

And it'd been a damn long time since he'd felt anything close.

* * *

"Bones give out on ya yet?"

Wiping the bleeding cut on his brow, Gajeel grinned in exhilaration as he collapsed onto the rickety stool set out for him. Across from him, Lily had an equally wide grin on his face, sporting a black eye and a slightly swollen lip.

"You wish," he scoffed. "Like I said – I went easy on you."

Gajeel rolled his eyes, grin only widening. "Admit it, Lil. I'm still a challenge," he retorted. Lily wiped his face, raising a brow at his sparring partner.

"You're not as rusty as the rumours would have it, I'll give you that," he said with a shrug. "But you're going to need to brush up on your skills if you're looking to fight the rookies that are making names for themselves these days."

Gajeel snorted. "Rookies are rookies – I've been doin' this since I was a kid."

Lily smirked. "Exactly. You're an old man to them, now. Better watch out so your _bones don't give out on you_," he quipped, leaning against the pole as he splashed some water on his face.

"Tch. Still just rookies. Give me a few more rounds in the ring and I'll have 'em running back to their mothers."

Lily laughed. "Yeah, well, spend a little time down here and you might get the chance," he said with a shrug. Gajeel smirked, gaze shifting to the room around them as his brows pulled down in thought. Practice required time, and he was about as short on that as he was on money these days.

The doors behind them creaked open then, breaking him out of his contemplations, and two sets of eyes swivelled to the doorway in time to see a head of white hair duck inside. Elfman regarded them with surprise for a split second, before a grin broke out on his face.

"I sense a fight amongst men!"

Gajeel rolled his eyes, although there was a grin on his face as the brute of a man stepped up to the training ring. "I sense eagerness. Wanna have a go?" he asked, about to rise from his chair. From beside him, Lily rolled his eyes.

"_You_ need to take it easy," he warned, but Gajeel only brushed him off. The fight had been too damn good, and the kick still hadn't left his system. And the prospect of a round in the ring with Elfman Strauss almost had him up and jumping on the spot. They didn't call him 'The Beast' for nothing.

The man in question didn't look any less eager. "I see you're back in the ring, Gajeel. Good, it's been a while since we had a manly spar," he declared, dropping his bag on the floor and cracking his knuckles. Gajeel grinned, rising to his feet.

"Oye, Lil, I'll get you back next round," he said, but Lily didn't move an inch. He sighed. "What?"

He looked dubious. "I've seen what happens when you two go at it – your head must have taken a worse hit than I thought if you think I'll actually let you kill yourself on your first day back."

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "Sorry, _mother_, I didn't know I had to ask permission for whose ass to kick," he retorted, followed by a muttered 'wet blanket'. Lily pointed a finger at him, brow raised in challenge.

"Don't make me throw you out on your ass, Gajeel. You've already established my age – hasn't anyone taught you to respect your seniors?" he asked, a grin on his face, but the warning was clear in his tone. "And I own this joint, so what I say goes."

Gajeel sighed exasperatedly. "Fine, you damn worry-wart," he muttered, shaking his head. "That match will still happen, Strauss," he declared, statement directed at Elfman, who grinned.

"A promise amongst men," was all he replied, which translated roughly into 'it's a deal' in normal-speak.

Splashing a handful of water on his face, Gajeel wiped his brow, and was about to open his mouth when the screeching sound of the double doors to the studio being pushed open reached his ears again, this time followed by the loud and unmistakable chatter of a familiar voice, and he groaned in disbelief. From beside him, his companions perked up, no doubt curious to see what had suddenly made the usually empty gym into a social event.

"This is it – the Pit!" Natsu all but bellowed as he entered the room, throwing his arms open and grinning his default grin. And as though things couldn't get any _worse,_ from behind him the soft patter of footsteps announced the presence of not only the Heartfilia-girl, but the McGarden princess as well, eyes wide in their faces as they took in the size and state of the gym.

And only seconds ago, things had been going _so well. _

The blonde one had her nose crinkled in distaste – no doubt the smell getting to her, and Gajeel felt like something holy was being desecrated before his eyes. Women had no business in the Pit unless their name was Erza Scarlet – especially not posh upper-class prudes with daddy issues.

"Wow, Natsu...it's..." the blonde one began as she came to a stop, eyes shifting across the room, her entire posture screaming doubt and distaste. "It's...nice." Gajeel resisted the urge to snort, but the idiot didn't seem to have caught on to her tone of voice at all. He grinned proudly.

"Isn't it? I've been coming here since I was as kid!" he announced. "Lost a tooth over there...and one over there...broke my nose twice in that ring...and oh! Over there I cracked my skull open!" he laughed.

The Heartfilia-girl nodded, almost absent-mindedly as she took in the information with very wide eyes. Gajeel only shook his head. 'Salamander' was known for his recklessness in the ring – and the many injures resulting from it. But it was all part of his supposed 'gimmick', or whatever it was he called it. It hadn't served to give him anything other than a reputation as an incurable hothead.

"Never did fix that crack, did they?"

Natsu rolled his eyes. "You're one to talk, scrap-metal. It's not like you're made of real iron," he quipped with a smirk. Gajeel glared, and was about to retort when another voice beat him to it.

"So this is where you train?" the shrimp asked as she came to stand beside the idiot, looking more curious than anything else. Gajeel swallowed his initial surprise, choosing in stead to glare as she walked over to the ring, large eyes flitting across the room, as though memorizing it rather than looking for the nearest escape route. When her gaze landed on him, though, her brows furrowed, and a sharp edge entered them.

And now he was going to hear it.

"And this is where _you_ went," she said, tiny arms crossed over her chest as she walked closer, and he noticed briefly – strangely, because what the hell? – that her hair wasn't straight like it'd been the night before, but tangled and wild. Hmpf. It made her look a little less posh, but so what?

"Yeah," he retorted, challenge clear in his tone. "Wasn't aware I had to notify _your highness _of wherever I go," he snapped.

Her eyes flashed in anger. "Oh, but _I _can't even go to the ladies' room without you following my every move?"

Still strung up about the night before. Figures.

"Hey, _I'm_ not the one needing protection here," he growled, to which her brows raised and she jutted her hip out in a way that was momentarily distracting, but he pushed the feeling down brutally.

"And you're doing such a _good_ _job_ with that, are you? Something could have happened while you were off..." she searched for a word, waving her hand in front of her as she motioned to himself and Lily, who was taking it all in with brows that had migrated all the way into his hairline. "...I don't even know what you do in here – punch each other for fun?"

"Pretty much," his friend piped up from behind him, and Gajeel shot him a look. He was ignored, however, as the dark skinned man stepped up beside him, a disarming smile on his scarred face.

"Hello. Lily is the name," he introduced himself, slipping beneath the ropes and jumping down from the elevated training ring. Bowing at the waist like some fucking gentleman, he addressed her like he'd been born and bred amongst her kind. "And you are?"

She blinked, clearly caught off guard for a second – which was often the case with first-timers around Lily, Gajeel knew – before a shy smile tugged at her lips. "I'm Levy," she said simply. No title and no last name – no doubt as per the boss' instructions. Turning her attention to Elfman, she inclined her head curiously.

"You're Mirajane's brother?" she asked, and Gajeel was surprised she knew, but he guessed she must have occupied herself somehow before the idiot had dragged her off from the speakeasy.

Elfman smiled, pleased to be recognized. "Elfman," he greeted, bowing his head – the action a little more awkward than it had been for Lily. "You are Gajeel's woman?" he asked then, and Gajeel almost choked on his tongue. Quirking a brow at the question, Lily turned his gaze on his friend, and there was a decidedly teasing glint in them.

"You didn't tell me you'd gotten yourself a girl," he said, and was answered with two incredulous splutters from the two parties concerned,

"The _hell_, Lil?!" / "Not if he was the last man on the _planet_."

Her eyes snapped towards him, meeting his in a fierce glare. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm under his 'protection'," she ground out, muttering under her breath as she turned her gaze away from him, "if you can call it that."

He snorted, mimicking her action. "Remember that crap job I told you about?" he asked Lily, nodding towards the midget. "That would be her."

She shot him another glare before averting her eyes again, and he noticed the slight tint of colour to her cheeks. A feral grin tugged on his lips. "Like what you see, shrimp?" he mocked. He'd taken his shirt off during the spar, and hadn't bothered to put it back on. And if she was reacting like _that_, there was no way he was going to.

Although Lily, it seemed, was determined to be annoyingly proper. Pulling on his shirt, he shot Gajeel a look. "In the presence of ladies, Gajeel," was all he said. Gajeel ignored him, the smirk widening as he noticed that the midget was firmly avoiding looking anywhere in his vicinity.

"You don't care, do ya, Luce?" Natsu asked out of nowhere, and to which the blonde rolled her eyes.

"It's 'Lucy', and _yes_, I do care. Do I look like I was raised by wolves?" she asked. Natsu only laughed at that, in the way only the idiot could to such a remark, and Gajeel shook his head. Idiots, the lot of them.

"So, Lily...it's nice to meet you," shortstuff said, bringing his attention back to her. "Are you a boxer, then, or do you do it for fun?" Gajeel rolled his eyes, about to retort when Lily beat him to the punch.

"Both, as it were," he answered amiably in the way only he could. "The Pit is mine, but I haven't hung up my gloves just yet. It's the easiest way to earn good money in this town," he added, shooting a look towards Gajeel, who ignored it heartily.

Natsu grinned, apparently considering himself part of the conversation. "Yeah!" he agreed, before rounding on the two women, enthusiasm all but rising off him like steam. "Hey! You two should come watch a match – Lily's pretty famous around here," he said. The blonde looked like she wanted to protest, but the tiny one looked...intrigued.

Tch.

Lily's smile turned distinctly cat-like. "And if you don't want to watch _me_ fight, your bodyguard over there is considering picking up the gloves again," he said to Levy, and Gajeel felt like throttling him.

"Oye–"

She blinked. "Oh, so you're a professional, too?" she asked, and he was damned if she didn't look even more intrigued. He snorted.

"Rusty, if you believe the rumours, but...yeah."

She nodded, almost to herself, before her eyes darted across him, and she blushed, looking away quickly. He almost managed not to smirk. Almost. So the posh princess had a thing for muscle, hmm? Not that it was a surprise, considering the prude sissies that frequented her circles. He probably looked like some exotic animal – dangerous and intriguing, but below her worth.

The unbidden thought made his blood simmer, and the smirk dropped from his face. If she thought she could look down on him, she had another thing coming.

Sensing his change of mood, Lily stepped between them. "Anyway, as it seems I've kept you from doing your job, Gajeel – for which I apologize, Miss Levy – I say we call it a day," he said, giving Gajeel a sharp look and earning himself another glare. "Come by when you have time and we'll go a few rounds – see if you can't get an actual punch in," he quipped with a smile.

"Oye, now–"

"It was nice meeting you, Miss Levy," he said, cutting him off and turning his attention to the small woman. Gajeel felt his eye twitch at the interruption. "Maybe I'll see you at a match soon?"

She smiled. "I'd like that."

Gajeel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Did she even know what went down during a lowtown match? He doubted she'd seen anything worse than fisticuffs where she came from. Their kind of boxing either left the losing part in pieces or became so bloody, the ref would have to halt the match to mop the ring before it was safe to continue. It was brutal, it was bloody and it was borderline illegal. It was _perfection_.

And he doubted she'd last five minutes.

Turning away to grab his shirt and suspenders, Gajeel almost felt like taking her to one, just to see how she'd react. Hell, maybe she needed a bit of a wake-up call – a little reminder that the world had more shit to it than the polished sphere of society she'd spawned from. Something to kick her off her high horse.

"Hey, Gajeel!" Salamander called from across the room, where he was eagerly showing the blonde the equipment and tugging her this way and that. "The old man said he needed to speak with you. Sounded important," he said with a shrug, before a smirk tugging on his lips, and he shot his friend a sly look. "Or maybe you're just getting a scolding for leaving Levy this morning. Someone's in trouble~!"

"Shaddup," Gajeel growled as he pulled on his shirt, strapping his suspenders over his shoulders haphazardly. Pulling his hair out of his face, he refastened the cord at his neck as he jumped down from the ring. Brushing past the tiny woman, he headed for the exit without pause.

"Get moving, shrimp, or you're finding the way back on your own," he called over his shoulder. She huffed but followed suit, tiny fists clenched at her sides as she walked with all the dignity of a goddamn queen, as though she wasn't walking out of a dingy basement that stank of sweat, but a friggin' palace.

"Rematch soon, Gajeel!" Lily called after him. "When you're not busy doting on your woman. Or you could bring her as your posse – you know, like Fullbuster does!"

Gajeel rolled his eyes, reminded of his old acquaintance – the woman who had successfully gone from one of the underworld's most feared hired guns to the personal fanclub of Gray Fullbuster. He'd hand it to Makarov – the old man had gotten a lot of people off the streets and given them a future with better prospects, but the crazy shit they got themselves into after getting involved with Fairy Tail...

It just wasn't healthy.

"She can carry the towels, but I don't think she'd handle the smell," he remarked as he stepped towards the curtain. Levy glared as she came towards him.

"The day I carry your towels, Mr. Redfox, is the day I have so little dignity left I might as well kiss your feet," she growled with all the intimidation of an angry little rodent. And for a split second, he was nearly impressed.

_Nearly_.

"Stay a while in this world, princess, and you can be sure that 'dignity' won't stick around for long," he snarled back, before pushing the fabric away and stepping into the hallway. He heard her seething behind him and felt a smirk tug at his lips. She was more tolerable when she was angry, surprisingly enough. Made her a little less rich and a little more human.

He heard Salamander's girl shout her good-byes from inside the gym, sounding like she wanted to follow, and then the midget was passing him by, small feet thundering up the stairs and out onto the pavement. At the top she rounded on him, finger raised and pointed straight at his chest, and being physically able to because she'd caught him before he'd managed to take the last step on the staircase, effectively putting them at eye-level.

"You know, if it's not too much to ask, you could treat me with a little more respect," she snapped. He rolled his eyes, pushing her hand away and walking past her.

"Do something to deserve it, and I might consider it," he grumbled as he began the trek back to the speakeasy. She threw her hands up, exasperated.

"Honestly! I don't know what I did to earn this..this _contempt_ you have for me," she said, picking up her pace to follow him. "Is it because I come from wealth? What, is the alley-born thug _jealous_? Or just naturally judge–"

She was cut off mid-rant as he rounded on her, eyes flashing. He was vaguely aware of the stares they were attracting, but her sass was pissing him off.

"You," he began, all but growling as he backed her up, a part of him – the sadistic streak he had – aware of and thriving in the way her eyes widened, and the hint of fear flashing through them, "are a spoiled brat, from a spoiled world, and you don't know anything about what it means being alley-born," he snarled. "I'll repeat what I said – do something to deserve it, and I might – _might_ – consider it. But I sincerely doubt you've got it in you."

To his surprise, she squared her shoulders, although with him towering a good foot and a half above the crown of her head, it wasn't very intimidating.

But it was something. And a part of him recognized it, even if he'd never admit it.

"Well, the respect goes both ways, Mr. Redfox," she declared. "And you are right, I don't know what it means being 'alley-born', but if it's being exceedingly arrogant and judging others for their heritage, however undesired, then I don't care much for it," she said, her expression dead serious. "I, for one, will not judge _you_ if you can show me the same courtesy."

And then she surprised him again, by suddenly holding out her hand.

"I know the situation isn't ideal, but I wish we could get over our differences and cooperate," she continued, swallowing heavily. "It would certainly make spending time together less taxing, for the both of us."

And then she _looked_ at him.

He glared at the hand as though she'd presented him with something insulting, before shifting his gaze to her face. Her words were calm and measured, but her expression was fierce, and he was briefly tempted to take her up on the offer. Looking down at his own hands, still bandaged from his fight with Lily, his brows furrowed as he remembered their greeting the previous day; of her small hand in his and everything it represented.

But the look on her face demanded action – demanded acceptance, and damn it if he hadn't worn that same look on his face throughout his entire goddamn life. A streetrat from the deepest reaches of the alleys working his way up in the underworld, and then right into the trust of not only one of Magnolia's most powerful men, but his lunatic of a son as well. That kind of social-climbing required stubborn determination, and not just a little bit.

And the shrimp before him was looking at him like she was two seconds away from challenging him to a street fight if it'd improve his impression of her. And even if he hated it, guts like that warranted respect.

Even if it was only a little.

…

Damn it all.

"Fine," was all he said as he grasped her hand brusquely, noticing that for such tiny fingers, her grip was surprisingly tight. When they pulled away, she nodded once, as though having finalized some deal, and he couldn't for the life of him think of anything to say, because damn it, his reflex remarks were always borderline or full-out insulting, and he had no idea how to handle the complicated agree-to-disagree deal they'd just made out of the blue. So he was silent. And she was silent–

–and then the nearby honk of a passing automobile had them both jumping in surprise. Gajeel cursed under his breath, glaring after the offending vehicle. When he looked back, shortstuff was biting back a smile. And it was like the unexpected noise had cut right through something between them, leaving him feeling like someone had gone and given the proverbial rug beneath him a sharp tug and throwing him completely off balance.

"So, are we going back?" She was still looking at him, her eyes big and brown – ones that looked innocent at first glance, but there was something in them that didn't sit well with him. Although he couldn't figure out what it was.

Pushing the inkling to the back of his mind, he snorted. "Nah, we're stayin' here," he mocked. "'Course we're going back. Now keep up!"

She shook her head as she fell into step beside him, her small feet taking two for each of his and muttering under her breath, "Guess the attitude stays."

"Damn straight it stays."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything more as they walked, a decent distance between them and no doubt looking for all of Magnolia like they would rather be anywhere else. But they'd agree to tolerate each other. And so they would. And hell, maybe she had a point – maybe attempting to get along would be the best course of action in the long run. It'd be a hell of a lot easier protecting her if he didn't feel like leaving her at every turn in the road.

And at least the old fart would be pleased, even if his shirt wasn't tucked in.

They hadn't gone far down the street, steadily filling with people out to enjoy the city now that the sun was at an appropriate height in the sky, when he caught sight of the shadow at the edge of his vision. He didn't stop in his tracks, though – he knew better than that. So he didn't make any move at all, but kept walking, shooting a quick glance towards the woman at his side to make sure she didn't get completely out of his sight. For her part, she was busy observing the world around them, a wistful look on her face and completely oblivious to their sudden and completely undesirable predicament.

Someone was watching them, and it wasn't the curious 'making a scene in public' kind of scrutiny he'd come to expect of this part of Magnolia.

It took him three more streets and a rounded corner to be completely sure, and he was suddenly very much aware of the fact that he'd left his gun at the speakeasy. Not that he usually needed it, but there was a considerable difference between being on your own and being responsible for someone else. Especially if that someone was tiny as hell and probably hadn't been in a fight in her life. Cursing softly under his breath, Gajeel couldn't believe his rotten luck.

They were being followed.

* * *

AN: Suspension. Suspenders? I love both. And for those who expected more action with the boxing – it'll come in due time. For now he's not really back in the game yet, but he will be once he gets rid of the rust, both pun and otherwise.


	4. all that jazz

AN: More familiar faces make their appearance, and Levy learns that Fairy Tail is made up of a bunch of nutjobs.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter IV**

It didn't take her long to realize that something was wrong.

His entire posture had stiffened suddenly, every muscle from his broad shoulders and down to his legs – and if he'd been less than talkative before, now he wasn't even being _rude, _and the fact had worry creeping up her neck despite her attempted at being calm. But he wasn't doing anything about it, whatever _it_ was – only kept on walking away from the city proper, hands deep in his pockets and eyes shifting this way and that in his usual manner of suspicious cynicism. But although only having known the man for a little more than a day, Levy could tell the difference. His shoulders were tense and the muscles in his arms clenched tightly, as though in restless anticipation.

He was on the lookout.

So to keep up the appearance of being inconspicuous until he figured out how he wanted to handle the situation, she pretended not to notice. Letting her eyes wander the street and the people milling around them, she played her part as the innocent and naïve, all the while trying to keep track of whatever it was that had her companion so high-strung. But other than the fact that he looked ready to go right into a fighting stance, she really had nothing else to go on. A split second of hesitation had her wondering if she was just being paranoid and reading too much into things – perhaps he was just a generally high-strung man with too much tension in his shoulders. But she didn't miss the way he moved closer, to the point where her arm almost brushed his.

And truce or no truce, from what she'd learned about Gajeel Redfox in the short time she'd spent in his presence, it was that he wasn't one for human contact if he could avoid it.

Brushing her hands against the skirt of her dress – a pretty yellow one with a low waistline that she'd borrowed from Lucy, as all _she'd_ thought to bring with her from home had been all the books she could fit in her suitcase and her reading spectacles – Levy felt for the slim pocket-knife strapped against the side of her hip, thankful for her sense in bringing it, even if she couldn't utilise it for the life of her. But perhaps the man at her side could – he certainly looked like he was capable enough. And it didn't look like he was carrying any weapons. If he was, she didn't know where was hiding them, and she'd seen him with less clothes than she was comfortable with only a few moments ago.

She felt heat creep up her neck and colour her cheeks as the memory flashed before her eyes, and prayed he wouldn't suddenly choose to look in her direction, because curse her heart, she'd always liked them with a little muscle. And even if she'd been two heartbeats away from throttling him down in the gym for his attitude, she couldn't deny that the sight of him, shirtless and drenched in sweat, had thrown her heavily off balance.

Because as long as he kept his mouth shut, there was no denying that Gajeel Redfox was _very_ easy on the eyes.

She didn't even mind the fact that he perpetually looked like he'd come right out of a fight – smudged shirt untucked and sinfully low-hanging breeches a clear statement of his devil-may-care look on life. And his _hair_...she'd never seen a man with hair like that. She wondered how long it was if he let it out of that cord...

...and what in the name of everything holy was she _doing_ thinking along those lines when they were being _followed?!_

Her cheeks had to be glowing by now, she knew, and resisted the urge to duck her head. It was bad enough that he'd caught her staring in the gym – the last thing she needed was for him to discover her secretly fawning over him. Not that she was. Because he was an ass with an incurable attitude, and even if they'd established some kind of agreement about tolerating each other, he was still nothing short of infuriating.

Even if he looked damn good without a shirt.

"Oye."

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the low rumble, so caught up in her own thoughts. Not wanting him to know she'd been caught off guard, she swallowed her surprise as she turned to look at him. He had an odd look on his face, but his attention wasn't on her – if it had been, he would have remarked on her blush with some inappropriate comment, no doubt. No, he still had his eyes on the people around them, although what he was looking for – or who – was beyond her.

"Don't stray too far. We might have company."

She nodded, taking an unconscious step closer before she could stop herself, but when he didn't comment on it, she didn't move back. Remembering Cana's comment from the night before about there not being many people more dangerous than the man at her side, she felt a little calmer.

Although he remained as tense as a strung wire beside her, and the fact made the calm ripple like a drop in a still pond.

Rounding another corner, she realized they were making their way into the Alleys, and felt worry perk at the prospect of all the dark nooks and corners for potential attackers to hide. No longer in the open amongst the milling crowds of the inner city, they were as good as making themselves easy targets. She wondered if, perhaps, that was his plan. Draw them out so he could deal with them without involving other people, and avoiding the eyes of the police...

The thought was more intriguing that it should be, she realized not without a little shame.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, a hand held out to halt her step and making her jump in surprise. And then she was quite unable to take her eyes off him. Like a beast ready to spring, he was all contained energy and the promise of blood, brows furrowed above crimson eyes on sharp lookout for the slightest movement from the shadows. And she hadn't seen anything quite as fascinating in her entire life. She wondered briefly if this was how he looked when he was in the ring, circling his opponent, waiting for them to make the first move...

The image was ruined, however, when he suddenly sighed in exasperation, eyes rolling heavenward as all the tenseness vanished from his body. Levy blinked, about to ask what was wrong when she was interrupted by the man himself, crossing his arms and glaring at a point in the afternoon shadows.

"Get your ass out here, Juvia! I ain't in the mood for games!"

...

And if she'd been confused before, _now_ she was downright befuddled as a shape suddenly materialized from the shade.

"Juvia was only curious to what Gajeel was up to," came the voice – the distinctly _feminine_ voice – and Levy could only gape as the shape entered the light of the sun, and turned out to _not_ be a six-foot tall, bull-sized man out for their blood, but a pretty young woman not much older than herself. Dressed elegantly in a deep blue coat with a fur collar and a cloche hat on her head, she looked like she belonged amongst the ladies of the upper class, not gallivanting around in the shadows of the Alleys.

From beside her, Gajeel rubbed at his forehead. "Woman, you need a new hobby," he muttered under his breath. "You could've been a bloody hitman for all I knew – are you out of your damned mind?!"

The woman – Juvia, he'd said? – blinked her eyes prettily, inclining her head to the side as her brows furrowed. "But Gajeel isn't armed, so he wouldn't have attacked Juvia without seeing her first," she stated as-a-matter-of-factly. Levy had no idea how she knew Gajeel was unarmed, but as the woman turned her gaze from the man beside her and to herself, she felt suddenly and very thoroughly scrutinized – and not just in the curious way women have of checking each other out. She almost felt like she was seizing her up!

Then her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together. "Is Gajeel on a date, perhaps?" she asked in rapt exuberance, and before Levy could pick her jaw up from the ground, she was suddenly right in front of her face, almost making her fall over in surprise.

"Oh, you're such a doll!" she cooed. "So cute with Gajeel, too! Juvia is so happy!"

...

**"_Eh?"_**

Gajeel snorted. "Woman, you're freaking her out. Stop that," he said, stepping between them as he nudged her away like some errant pet. "And she ain't my girl – she's my job," he grumbled. Juvia looked nothing short of crestfallen.

"Oh."

And Levy almost seconded her thoughts right then and there, but pushed the feeling back forcibly. Because there was no way his words struck something in her. She was _not_ upset about not being his girl. Not a chance. She found him attractive, yes, and she knew now that he offered more than sufficient protection should the need arise, but that was _it._ She was _not_ bringing feelings into the mix, curse her traitorous heard and her penchant for dark, mysterious men with horrible attitudes. She just wasn't going to go there. She could almost picture it happening – it'd be a good novel, she supposed. The rich girl from the privileged world falling for the dangerous thug with the mysterious past...

She almost slapped herself. He was an _ass, _and even if she had silly, girlhood crushes on fictional characters from her favourite novels, it didn't come _close_ to the complications it would bring in real life. Fiction was fiction – this was reality, and nothing, not even the lives of the elite, were as sugarcoated as the novels would have them be.

"Oye."

And there was no way he would see her as anything other than a job, anyways, so why was she even thinking along those lines?

"Oye!"

Blinking, Levy found herself brutally pulled out of her musings and back into the alley and to the scrutiny of two sets of eyes – one curious, the other looking at her like she'd completely lost her mind.

And maybe she had, if her previous thoughts were anything to go by.

"You done daydreamin'?" Gajeel snorted, turning to the strange woman, waving his hand in her general direction. "Levy McGarden, Juvia Lockser. Used to work for the mob, but she's one of Makarov's brats now."

The woman smiled. "Juvia is happy to be working for Mr. Makarov! It's where Juvia met her Gray!" she announced. And had this been a mere day ago, Levy would have a hard time imagining such a woman as having anything to do with the criminal underworld, but her meeting with Fairy Tail had messed up her general perception of life anyway, so the information was hardly surprising.

"Juvia was headed back from a job when she saw Gajeel and Miss Levy," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Juvia was curious – perhaps Gajeel had finally found someone!"

Gajeel's eye twitched, and Levy bit back a smile. "Yeah, well next time don't creep around like a stalker," he muttered.

She only shrugged, as though this was normal behaviour. "Juvia assumed Gajeel would figure it out."

"And if I hadn't? Tch – damn troublesome woman."

Juvia smiled, eyes crinkling, before they shifted to Levy. "Are you working for the boss as well?" she asked, deep blue eyes shifting between her and Gajeel. Levy shook her head.

"No, I...I'm just visiting," she said lamely, not really knowing how else to explain it as her eyes shifted to the man beside her. "Mr. Makarov assigned Gajeel to...look out for me."

Juvia cocked her head to the side, brows furrowed as she regarded her curiously for a moment. She didn't ask further, but her gaze lingered where Levy had her knife hidden, a small smile playing at her lips that had Levy's brows furrowing.

"Well," she said then, breaking the silence. "Juvia is glad Gajeel has found another job – he has been very stressed lately," she confided, giving him a curiously knowing look. Gajeel averted his gaze.

"That job still stands – this is only extra work," he muttered, and the strange woman's face fell. The expression was gone a split second later, however, and then she was smiling again like nothing had passed between them. Levy frowned.

Odd.

"So," Levy began, noticing a somewhat awkward tension settle between them all. "Wasn't Makarov looking for you, Gajeel?"

The man grumbled something under his breath, but started walking. "Yeah, yeah. You going back, Juvia?" he called over his shoulder.

She nodded, and fell into step beside Levy as they started making their way down the alley, Gajeel a few paces ahead of them. Levy assumed they were going the same way they had yesterday, but to be honest, everything looked different in daylight, and she had absolutely no idea where she was or in what direction they were headed. She tried to make some kind of sense out of the route he was taking, but the streets all looked the same – cramped, winding lanes stacked with crates and barrels and lined with cobblestones. For all she knew they were in a maze, but the man before her looked like he could have walked the way in his sleep – he didn't even seem to watch where he was going.

"Have you visited Fairy Tail yet, Miss Levy?" Juvia asked her then, pulling her away from her musings. She smiled.

"First time yesterday, actually," she said. "It was...interesting. I'd never been to a speakeasy before."

Juvia smiled. "Juvia has been to many, but none as good as the boss'," she said. Levy nodded, mentally filing away the information.

"Gajeel said...you used to be in the mob?" she asked, carefully, wondering if perhaps it was a touchy subject, but too curious to help herself. It didn't seem to be, though, as Juvia only nodded, and she might as well have been asked if she'd used to wear her hair differently, from her reaction.

"Juvia was in a bad place," she explained. "Has Miss Levy heard of Jose Porla?"

Levy frowned, shaking her head. "Can't say that I have."

"Jose is the leader of the Phantoms – they are a local group of gangsters, but their jurisdiction is in the Alleys and not the inner city, so Juvia is not surprised Miss Levy has not heard of them. He is in the moonshine business, like Mr. Makarov," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. Levy felt a shot of apprehensiveness that she had somehow worked out that she was from the inner city, but Gajeel trusted her...and he _had_ introduced Levy by her full name, despite Makarov's orders...so perhaps she was just being jittery. The woman at her side didn't strike her as a double-crosser. Although...

"Were you a member? Of the, uh -the Phantoms?" Levy asked. Gajeel had said she'd used to be 'in' the mob, but that could mean a lot of things. Juvia nodded.

"Juvia and Gajeel were partners." Levy's eyes were drawn to the man in front of them. Cana had said something of the like, hadn't she? A torpedo. "Jose...offered protection," Juvia continued, brows furrowing. "For people like Gajeel and Juvia, there is little more valuable," she explained. Levy nodded.

"Then...Makarov found you?"

At this, a smile quirked her lips upward, as though at some inside joke. "Not quite," she said. "Gajeel...did something foolish."

From ahead of them, there came a snort. "That's putting it lightly," he grumbled. Juvia grinned.

"Mr. Makarov offered Juvia and Gajeel new jobs, and a home," she said with a shrug. "Juvia thought he was just a businessman."

Levy felt a wry smile tug at her lips. "But he wasn't."

Juvia only smiled, and Levy felt that, other than the fact that she'd just been caught stalking them, perhaps Fairy Tail had _some_ normal people to counteract all the insane ones.

...

The thought lasted her a good five minutes before she had to swallow her own words, because upon entering the alley where the back door was located, the woman at her side went from a seemingly normal conversational partner to barely being able to stand upright, and looking like she wanted nothing more than to go back into the shadows. The man in front of them stopped, a weary sigh pulling at his shoulders as Levy came to stand beside him, looking over her shoulder quizzically at her new friend, who was shrinking back in on herself, cheeks very, very red.

"Is she alright?" she asked softly. He snorted, shooting a glance at his old partner before turning his attention back to the entrance, where Levy could see two people in conversation – a dark-haired man in a white jacket and a woman with hair a very deep scarlet that seemed to stand out like a flower amongst the dingy colours around them. Upon their approach, she turned to face them, and Levy blinked at the sight of her. Dressed in a short skirt – as was the fashion – but paired off with what looked like a man's shirt. There was a wide grin on her face.

"I see you've been to see Lily," she announced, hands on her hips as they approached. Gajeel rolled his eyes.

"Could've been a job," he grumbled. She raised an elegant brow.

"You rarely come sporting bruises after jobs. You've been to the Pit," she stated. Gajeel only shook his head, before inclining it to look at Levy, who was still a little distracted by the woman's state of dress. Upon catching sight of her, the redhead smiled.

"Ah, you must be Levy," she said, stepping forward and offering her hand. "Erza Scarlet. Makarov told me you'd arrived."

Levy grasped her hand, and almost jumped in surprise at the force of her grip. "Nice to meet you," she said, almost dumbly. Erza nodded.

"I have heard a little of you from Lucy," she declared, before leaning in, almost consiprationally. "She dresses provocatively, no? I, myself, am attempting to follow the latest fashion, so I thought to ask if I could borrow something. Is she the kind to allow such requests?"

Levy could only blink. "Uh...yeah? I'm borrowing a dress right now, so...I don't think she'd mind," she said, thoroughly confused. Erza, however, looked pleased.

"Is that so? Good." Turning to Gajeel, she smirked. "We should arrange a match soon," she declared, to which Levy felt her eyes bulge.

...come again?

Gajeel grinned. "Oho? You offerin'?"

From behind the redhead, the silent man snorted, arms crossed over his chest. "Careful, Redfox, she's been training. Had me down after five minutes in the ring yesterday," he said, motioning to the black bruise covering his right eye. Erza only grinned, and Levy could only gape in abject surprise and admiration.

"You- you're a _boxer?"_

Erza nodded proudly, arms crossed over her chest, and it was now that Levy took notice of the lean build that clearly spoke of abilities beyond the domestic.

She could only blink. "Is that allowed?" she asked Gajeel, who shrugged.

"Anyone who wants to argue is allowed to take her on in the ring. They usually shut their traps after that," he said. The dark haired grinned knowingly.

"'Course they do – last idiot was hospitalized for a month."

Erza only grinned at that, and all Levy could think about was that if she wasn't already curious to see a match, now she could hardly think of anything else. Looking up, she remembered she hadn't greeted Erza's companion yet, but startled slightly upon seeing that he was suddenly very...shirtless.

He held out a hand, unperturbed by his sudden state of undress. "Gray Fullbuster," he greeted, casually, despite her gaping mouth. "You're the McGarden girl the boss adopted?"

Levy could only gape, but startled when a rough hand suddenly covered her eyes, blocking her vision. _"Idiot_ – put your damn clothes back on!" Gajeel growled, to which the other man cursed under his breath.

"How did that happen?!"

Pushing the bandaged hand away from her face, Levy fought to keep the blush from her cheeks as the scent of metal and sweat invaded her senses. Perhaps she had been overly optimistic in her assumptions earlier. There didn't seem to be a _single_ normal person in Fairy Tail.

From behind them, Juvia suddenly deemed it prudent to pop in, nearly startling the lot of them out of their wits. "M-Mr. Fullbuster! What a coincidence, meeting Juvia here," she said with a shy smile, hands brushing against the skirt of her coat before going to adjust her hat almost subconsciously, and Levy could only blink, wondering what had happened to the serene woman who had walked with her only moments before. The one before her was looking five seconds away from fainting on the spot.

Then her deep eyes landed on the redhead, and her brows furrowed as her gaze shifted between the other woman and the dark haired man, the contrasting behaviour so sharp it threw Levy for a loop. "Erza," she said.

Erza raised a challenging brow in return, but seem more amused than threatened. "Juvia."

Gajeel rolled his eyes, reaching out to tug Levy with him. "Come on. Boss' is waitin' and I ain't leaving you out here with these nuts," he grumbled as he pushed her towards the doorway.

"Hey! I can walk–"

"–fine on yer own. Just get yer ass going, yeah?"

Ducking out from his grip indignantly, she brushed herself off, shooting him a look. "I'm not up for being manhandled," she snapped.

He snorted, but held the door open as she stepped inside. "Shame. You could use some manhandling'," he muttered. "Might make ya a little less uptight."

She caught the comment as she passed him, but despite the fierce blush on her cheeks, Levy rolled her eyes. She'd known from the start that even if he'd agreed to get along, there was little she could do about his general attitude. And if hoping that Fairy Tail housed even _one_ sane person had been overly optimistic, hoping Gajeel would start treating her like a lady was as good as wishful thinking. No, she'd resigned herself to the fact that he'd still be himself, truce or no truce.

But if he thought she was just going to let his sass slide, he had another thing coming. She'd heard worse comments from worse men in her life, so with her chin held high, she countered his remark by rising above it.

As the door slammed shut behind them, they walked down the corridor she remembered from the night of her arrival – headed towards the common room and Makarov's office. "So," she began, curious. "That woman, Erza...she's a boxer?"

"That's what she said."

"But...you fight with women?" she asked, brows furrowing as she imagined this concept. Turning his gaze on her, he raised a brow.

"I don't fight _women._ I fight Erza Scarlet – there's a difference."

She blinked. "But she's a woman," she stated, as if he perhaps hadn't realized this.

He grinned. "But she's Erza Scarlet," he retorted simply, and left it at that as he ducked under the doorway and into the main room. Levy could only shake her head as she followed him inside.

The people in this place made no sense.

Entering the main room of the speakeasy that was now her home, Levy felt a smile tug at her lips upon seeing Mira and Cana seated at the bar, the former polishing glasses and the latter going over the same list of inventory she had been checking when Levy had left earlier, a glass of something dark sitting at her elbow. In the soft afternoon light, the empty establishment was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the previous night, and it had an almost lazy comfort to it that made it feel like home. Leaving her by the bar, Gajeel gave her a look that told her to stay put, before he strode towards Makarov's office. Levy resisted sticking her tongue out at his back for his impudence, but settled with a glare.

"Did you like the Pit, Miss Levy?" Mira asked her as she came to take a seat.

She smiled as she barmaid pushed a glass of lemonade towards her. "It was nice," she said, honestly, because it really had been, rust and dirt aside. "I met a man – Lily? He was very well-mannered," she added, muttering a soft 'unlike some people in this place' under her breath.

Cana grinned. "Yeah, Lil is cool like that. You wouldn't think it, though, what with the company he keeps."

Levy rolled her eyes, sipping her drink. "Gajeel could learn a thing or two from him."

"Hon, Lily's been trying for _years_. If it ain't happened yet..." she trailed off, waving a hand as she checked off her list. Mira only smiled.

"I think Gajeel has a lot of potential," she said. "He's improved a lot since he joined, has he not?"

"Still keeps to himself like a damn hermit, but at least he ain't scaring off customers anymore," Cana snorted. And as though reminded of something, Mira seemed to light up.

"Oh! That's right, I forgot to tell you this morning, Levy," she said. "The boss is hosting a party tonight."

Levy blinked. "A party?"

Cana nodded. "Successful shipment just came in, so the boss decided to put on a little ritz."

Levy smiled, putting her glass down. "That sounds nice."

Mira nodded. "Then you wouldn't mind if we helped doll you up a bit?" she asked, tilting her head with a decidedly innocent smile on her pretty face.

"Eh?"

Cana grinned wickedly. "Lucy said you'd only brought a bunch of books and no extra clothes, and you're not wearing _that_," she said simply, motioning to the dress that, although pretty, was no party-dress.

"Well, if you have anything to spare..." Levy said, suddenly very conscious of the sly look that passed between the two women. Cana shot a look towards the door to Makarov's office, and Levy felt her heart drop to her stomach at the cat-like grin that stretched across her face. Leaning towards her, the brunette gave her leg a pat, dark eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Honey, we'll make so you _fine,_ he won't know what hit him."

She nearly choked on her drink. "Wh-what? No, no, no! No, you're not–"

Cana waved her off. "We've all seen the looks, doll. Can't blame you there, although it'll take a saint to put up with that attitude," she muttered. Levy shook her head.

"Cana, _no._ I mean it, there's nothing–"

"I think it'd be the bees knees," Mira cut her off with a smile. "He could use a girl to lighten up his life."

"Mirajane–!"

"Right?" Cana asked with a wink. "But you'll need to be a little more spiffy if you're going to catch his eye."

"I'm not out to catch _anyone's–"_

"Do you think the green dress would look good on her?" Mira asked. "The one Lucy showed us yesterday?"

"Nah – too long on her. I'd go with the dark russet one. You know – the short one in silk with the embroideries?"

"Ah! And with a matching headband! Oh, that colour with her hair – she'll look wonderful!"

"And we'll get her some heels and some pearls, I think–"

"_**Stop it!"**_

Her embarrassed demand was swallowed by the laughter of the two women beside her, and Levy could only hide her blushing face in her hands, thinking not for the first time – or the _last,_ if things continued the way they were going –

_What_ had she gotten herself into?

* * *

_Oh_, _applesauce_...

If she had thought that the gathering of people on the night of her arrival could constitute as a 'party', Levy now felt she'd made a gross understatement.

"Hey, Cana – lookin' fine tonight! Come over and have a glass!"

The brunette grinned wickedly, sending a wink in the direction of the shouted remark as she strode off into the crowd, hips swaying in a shimmer of silk and dark frills that had more than one appraising eye turning in her direction. Around her, the full establishment was a flurry of voices and well-dressed people, the glimmer of pearls and diamonds, trails of cigarette smoke and the clink of glasses. Soft lights gave the room an almost ethereal appearance, and in the far corner silky jazz-tunes drifted from the house band.

Sensing her companion's reluctance, Cana turned to the doorway, a hand on her hip and her cigarette in the other. "You gonna come out, doll? This ain't the time to hide away," she said with a smirk.

Levy bit her lip, conscious of the stares she was attracting as she tentatively made her way towards the taller woman, the click of her heels on the hardwood floor feeling like the toll of heavy bells, and she averted her eyes shyly at the glances thrown her way.

As she'd had the forethought of...well, _herself_, she hadn't brought any clothes more fancy than the ones on her back, but it had hardly been necessary, as Lucy had more than enough for the both of them. And although a good two sizes smaller than her buxom friend in some areas, they had managed to dig out a beautiful deep grey and russet silk dress that, despite never having been one for vanity, had even Levy feeling like a princess. And it was a _good_ feeling. A little embarrassing, but empowering all the same, and as she'd taken in the sight of herself in the mirror of their room earlier, she'd come to wonder what she'd been missing out on, hidden away as she'd been in her sheltered world of manners and propriety.

Smiling, she brushed her hands against her dress, loving the feel of the silk and the small beaded pearls and the frills that swayed when she walked. Her hair had been left as it was, but kept back from it's usual madness with an embroidered headband, and she'd never felt classier in her life.

All things considered – her brutal awakening and her meeting with this new world and it's many surprises – things were finally looking up.

"Wow, Levy – look at you!" Lucy greeted her at her approach, a drink in her hand and a smile on her face. In the silvery hues of her silk ensemble, provocative enough to give her poor father an early heart-attack, she looked absolutely stunning. Grinning at her approach, her friend handed her a glass. "Light rum," she said with a knowing smile and a wink, and Levy voiced her thanks, accepting the offered drink. A tentative sip assured her it wasn't as heavy as her first attempt at alcohol, and she smiled at her friend's consideration.

Tucking a blonde lock behind her ear almost absent-mindedly, Lucy's eyes wandered across the full establishment, a small frown tugging at her previously smiling face. Levy hid a smile behind the rim of her glass. "Looking for someone?"

She raised a brow at the teasing tone. "Just keeping an eye out," she retorted, but had a hard time hiding her own smile. Levy grinned, and got a nudge in her side for her effort. "Stop that."

"I haven't done anything," she quipped.

Lucy snorted. "You've got that clever look on your face – that look is _never_ good."

"Well you're looking like you'd rather be somewhere else. Or with _someone_ else. Are we a little taken with our new bodyguard, perhaps?" she teased.

"Like you're one to talk!"

"Hey, _I_ wasn't walking around in his clothes yesterday."

"He pushed me in the river! I didn't have a spare set with me – what was I supposed to wear?"

Levy laughed at her friend's embarrassed expression. "Relax, Lu. I'm just teasing."

The blonde grumbled, sipping her drink, although there was a humorous glint to her eyes as she allowed them another sweep of the room. Levy's gaze turned to follow her friend's, wondering where her own 'bodyguard' had taken off to. She didn't need to look long, though, before Lucy's voice cut through her musings.

"Oho, look who cleans up nice," she murmured coyly, nudging Levy with her elbow, and her eyes were drawn to where the blonde was looking.

And promptly stopped.

"Would you look at that," Lucy murmured. "Who'd have thought that underneath all the dirt there'd be such a man?"

Levy could only nod dumbly as the object of their attention manoeuvred his way through the throng of people, a grinning Lily at his side. Gone were the worn trousers and the grease-smudged shirt that looked so tight it had to be peeled off – replaced by an entirely dark ensemble of slacks and shirt. Across his shoulders a pair of white suspenders were strapped, effectively outlining the shape of his torso, and atop his head a black fedora completed the look, making him appear every bit the classy bootlegger and not the dirty street-thug she'd been introduced to.

And in a moment of complete and utter captivity, she could only stare.

"Don't let him catch you giving him those eyes, or he'll never let you live it down," Cana's voice whispered playfully in her ear as she slung an arm around Levy's shoulders, although her own eyes lingered a little longer than publicly appropriate. Levy felt her cheeks flare with colour, and put her glass to her lips hastily, pretending she hadn't heard. Cana grinned, giving her a playful nudge.

"What are you standing around here for, doll? Get your bum over there!"

"Cana!" she hissed, shaking her head as she brunette tried to push her towards the crowd and Gajeel. "Stop that!"

From beside her, Lucy grinned. "Come on, Levy – ask him to dance or something. Maybe it'd loosen the tension between you two."

Cana snorted. "I can think of a better thing to loosen _that_ kind of tension," she muttered, and Levy almost choked on her drink. Lucy laughed at her abject mortification.

"Lu! Cana – _stop it!_"

Filling a glass with a dark brown liquid, the brunette handed it over. "Go on, doll – give him that from me," she said. Levy blinked down at the drink in her hand.

"But–"

Giving her another nudge, Cana grinned. "You have a chance to chat now, hon – don't mess it up! Give us gals somethin' to gossip about," she teased, and Levy could hardly protest before she found herself pushed into the middle of the throng of people. Swallowing heavily, she dared a glance back at the two women, who were grinning eagerly – to which she responded with a glare before she tentatively made her way forward, the glass gripped tightly between her fingers. Upon reaching Lily, she noticed that he was alone – with a slight twinge of disappointment that she pushed down as quickly as it'd appeared. At the sight of her, the large man grinned, holding up his own drink in greeting.

"Ah, Miss Levy, good to see you again so soon," he said with a small bow of his head, and she smiled.

"Good evening, Mr..." she trailed off, remembering with a twinge of embarrassment that she didn't know his last name. He grinned.

"Just Lily, if you'd please," he said with a laugh, giving her an appraising look. "May I say that you look stunning this evening?"

She blushed at the compliment. "Thank you," she said, brushing her hand across the skirt of her dress. "I was told a special occasion required a little dolling up."

He smirked. "That would be Cana for you."

A wry smirk tugged at her mouth. "She can be very...persuasive."

He snorted. "That's putting it mildly," he muttered, but there was only good humour in his tone. "I take it you are settling in well then?"

She smiled. "Better, yes. It was a bit hectic in the beginning," she said with a smile, allowing her eyes to wander the crowd around them, searching for a dark and towering shape amongst the glitter. Sensing her intent, Lily motioned towards the back of the establishment.

"If you're looking for Gajeel, he went in that direction. Don't know what he was up to, but knowing him he'll be needing a break from the socialising about now. Or a smoke," he said with a wink, putting his drink to his lips to hide a calculating smile. Levy felt her cheeks heat at the assumption. What was the deal with all the meddlers in this place?

"I'm just going to bring him a drink from Cana," she said casually, motioning to the glass in her hand. "Before the ice melts."

Lily hummed. "Well, you'd better find him then. Before the ice melts, of course."

"I really should," she retorted, brows furrowed in a mock-glare at his gall, but she couldn't keep the smile from her face as she made her way through the throng of people, shooting him a look over her shoulder as she went. There was something wonderfully liberating about these people and their casual way of handling everything that had her wondering how she could ever have lived without it. There were no strict social norms governing everyone and everything and keeping people from acting to their heart's content; no rules to say new acquaintances couldn't talk like old friends if they felt like it. Women could drink and smoke and even _box_ along with the men if they wanted to, and it was all the bee's knees.

Fairy Tail, it seemed, had something the high life she'd come from could never match. Because for all its wealth and luxury, her old world could never measure up to the _opportunities_ that these people valued above all else. It didn't matter who you were or what your situation was in life – if you had it in you, you could very well do whatever you wanted. And she found that she loved it.

And had it not been for the heavy weight on her shoulders and the casual yet tight grip around her heart that reminded her that she had _responsibilities_ that wouldn't just go away because she'd discovered the joy of living, Levy would have embraced her new situation with vigour.

Stepping out of the crowd, she straightened her dress almost subconsciously as she made her way towards the back of the room, wondering idly if Lily had pointed her in the right direction, as she could see no trace of Gajeel anywhere. At this end of the room there were only crates and a few extra tables stacked atop each other, but no people and no place to sit down. About to turn back, the rumble of a deep voice had her stopping in her tracks, and she smiled as she made her way towards the doorway she'd thought just lead to a storage room. Maybe he'd just needed to have a smoke in private – he struck her as the kind who grew tired of people easily. She was about to knock when another voice had her hand halting – this time the words clear enough for her to catch.

"It's worse than I thought," Makarov's muffled voice reached her ears, and the sudden coldness in the usually warm tones had her brows shooting into her hairline.

"Yeah," the rumble that could only be Gajeel answered. "Rumour has it he's got his fingers in a lot of pies," he muttered with a disgusted scoff, and she could almost see him crossing his arms over his chest in that arrogant manner of his.

Makarov hummed. "Alexei, you said – that is the name he's currently using?"

Levy felt her blood run cold, the grip on the glass in her hand tightening as the words registered in her mind.

"Yeah. Been usin' it to spur more than one hostile takeover in the past year."

Her hand trembled as the coldness melted away with a surge of white-hot anger, spreading from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her numb fingers, clutching the glass like a lifeline.

"And you think he's trying to get to my grandson through this alias?"

"Wouldn't put it past him, but Laxus should know better than to be fooled by that."

What Makarov said next was lost on her, as all she could seem to hear was the deafening sound of her own blood pumping in her ears, making her entire body shake with repressed fury.

_Alexei – _the name was a dark stain upon her memory. Her reason for going into hiding, and the reason that her company was no longer in her family's name. The name was the reason she could never allow herself to settle, could never allow herself to _forget. _For it belonged to the man who had taken what she held most dear to her heart.

The man who had murdered her father.

* * *

AN: Yes, Ivan is my favourite spreader-of-evil in the Fairy Tail-verse, and I think he has potential to do a lot more shit than what Mashima's allowed so far in the manga. So in this fic he'll get to be a real bastard! Oh, and I'll be adding some **extra** **chapters** **for Natsu and Lucy** to go along with the story as a sort of side-plot, if you will. There will be hints of Natsu/Lucy throughout the story, but I thought it'd be fun to have some chapters dedicated to just the two them to see some aspects from different points of view. **For those who don't like the pairing, you won't have to read the chapters**, as they won't be crucial to the main storyline.

Next up: as it turns out, Levy's got a lot more baggage than what Gajeel had to carry with him on their first meeting.

**spiffy: **elegant

**ritz: **glamour/elegance


	5. baggage claim

AN: More drama! More Lily!

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter V**

Sometimes, Gajeel found he just wasn't paid enough for the shit he did.

"Yeah, yeah, old man. I'll keep an eye out," he muttered, waving his boss away as he stepped out of the storage room he'd been ushered into, longing for a smoke. After their meeting earlier, he'd been sent out to investigate a rumour concerning Makarov's lunatic son, and he'd barely had time to get back and change before the old man had tracked him down for intel. And he hadn't even had time to get a drink!

"Report back to me the minute you hear anything – _anything_ of importance," Makarov emphasised, uselessly in Gajeel's opinion, because if there was one thing he didn't need to be told how to do, it was his damn job.

"Don't scoff at me, boy! This situation is more serious than you realize," came the irate grumble, and he inclined his head to give the old man a look.

"I _realize_ just fine," he snapped. "I work with the damn nut, don't I? Tch."

Makarov brushed past him. "That may well be, but I am not taking any chances with this."

"Yeah, yeah _–ow!_ Damn it, old fart! The hell was that for?!"

Makarov brushed his knuckles against his silk vest as he walked away. "Don't sass me, boy," was all he said as he moved to join the crowd, "or I'll have you cleaning the restrooms for the next two months."

Gajeel snorted. "Does it get me out of babysittin' the shrimp?"

Makarov smirked over his shoulder. "Not a chance." And then he was gone, vanished amidst the bustle of the crowd. Gajeel grumbled, rubbing the spot on his head under his favourite fedora. _Stupid old fart._

Turning to look at the bustle of people, he felt his eye twitch at the clamour around him. Lily had all but forced him into a new shirt, although _why_ his friend had gone to such lengths was beyond him, but he was there and he was bloody trying to enjoy himself – it wasn't his damn fault the idiots surrounding him were ruining the experience. It wasn't that he minded parties – the more hooch, the better, after all, and the old man always made sure there was a lot of booze to be had at his social gatherings. But also as per the tradition of a typical Fairy Tail party, it always left him with a pounding headache – and _not_ from the booze. That, at least, would have been tolerable. Damn troublesome idiots and their damn inability to be _normal._

Manoeuvring towards the bar, eyes on the lookout for a head of bright blue hair, he was surprised at the small hand that suddenly materialized on his elbow, and turned to see that the shrimp had found him in stead. Eyes raking across her form with all the subtlety of a lecher, he found a smirk tugging on his lips.

"Look who cleans up nice," he remarked, taking in the colour of her silk dress and the way it made her hair stand out. She was hella tiny, but the short thing she was wearing had his eyes noticing a few things they'd missed under the damn prudish clothes she'd been covering herself with before. Like hips. And a nice, round–

He stopped his train of thought before it crashed. He was _not_ going there. Not with her.

She didn't blush at his comment like he'd thought she'd do, though, and he felt his smirk drop. His eyes landed on the drink in her hand. "Ain't that a little strong for you, Shorty?"

She looked at it, puzzled, as though just now realizing she was holding it, before looking back up at him. "It's for you."

He frowned. "O-kay," he muttered, taking it from her when she held it towards him. The ice had almost melted, but the thought hardly registered.

She was acting hella strange.

"So," he began, surprised to find himself initiating a conversation, but her silence was throwing him off. "Blondie let you borrow her clothes?"

She raised her eyes and nodded, but said nothing else. Gajeel's frown deepened. No snappy remarks? No huffs and haughtily raised chin?

The hell was eating her?

He regarded her suspiciously. "You alright, Shorty?"

She nodded, although her eyes hardened. "Peachy keen."

Tch. Right. _That_ was about as believable as the old man's innocence. "Well, I ain't gonna pry if you ain't gonna talk," he snapped, taking a sip from his drink. Scotch. His usual, meaning Cana must have given it to her. He regarded her over the brim of his glass. "Cana say somethin'?"

She shook her head, and he glowered. "You punishin me for somethin'? I ain't said shit since the Pit – the fuck are you giving me hell for _now_?" he snapped, his anger getting the better of him, but damn it all, he preferred it when she was snapping back – not staring at him with eyes that looked like all the warmth had gone right out of them. It was creeping him out.

When she still didn't say anything, something snapped in him. "Alright, that's it," he growled, grabbing hold of her elbow as he all but hauled her away from the crowd. She made no move to resist, not even a sharp remark that she could walk _fine on her own_ – only let herself be dragged away. Dropping his glass off at the bar, he shot Cana a look that had a smirk tugging at her lips, although _why_ he didn't even want to consider. If the damn drunkard had told the girl anything that would compromise his job, he'd have her strung up by her ankles from the third floor.

Ignoring the curious look the blonde one was giving him, he pushed the shrimp ahead of him into one of the many lounges situated alongside the bar, the dark look directed at the couple sitting inside enough to send them running. Depositing the girl on the velvet couch, he shut the door behind him before turning and levelling her with a glare.

"Talk."

She crossed her arms over her chest where she sat, brows furrowed and a hard light to her eyes, and then she said something that had the next insult halting on his tongue.

"Alexei."

Gajeel blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before his eyes narrowed dangerously. Taking a step towards her, he leaned down until his face was level with hers. Hard brown eyes stared into his, unblinking. "You've been eavesdroppin', Shorty?" he growled.

She didn't even flinch. This angered him, somehow.

"What are you planning on doing about him?" she asked in stead, completely ignoring his question although as good as admitting to his accusation anyway. Gajeel raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That ain't yer beeswax, shortstuff."

At that, her brows narrowed. "I believe it is my business," she snapped.

"Oh? Why's that?"

She didn't answer, but he could tell she was carefully selecting her next words. That meant she had something to hide.

Interesting.

"I have my reasons," she said at length. He snorted.

"You have reasons for wanting to do, what? Take down one of the biggest names in the criminal underworld? 'Cause that's what he is, if you didn't know."

She glared. "I did know, as a matter of fact."

Gajeel raised what he hoped was a condescending brow. "Did you also know he's the boss' son?"

Her glare wavered a bit at that. Ah, so she hadn't known _that. _

Then her eyes narrowed again. "It doesn't change anything."

"The hell it does. Why're you interested, anyway?"

She didn't reply, and he leaned in closer, until his nose almost bumped with hers. She snorted, but didn't move back. "Is this an interrogation?" she asked.

A wicked smile pulled at his lips. So she wanted to play that game, did she?

"Believe me, Shorty," he growled, and his voice was a dark thing. "You wouldn't want it to be."

She raised a brow in challenge, but he caught the flash of fear in her eyes. The sight send a shiver down his spine, catering to a part of him that hadn't seen the sunlight since his days with Jose. He grinned. "So unless you wanna go there, I suggest you start talkin'."

His voice was a low rumble in the quiet room, the only other sounds besides their breathing being the muffled tunes of music and chatter from outside. She stared at him for a long time, big brown eyes holding secrets that actually had him curious enough to want to discover, and _that_ was saying something. He'd seen his share of strange things in life and his line of work, but for the first time in a long time he found himself genuinely curious to what she was hiding.

Finally, after staring him down with all the authority of a bloody princess, she sighed. "Fine."

He smirked, pulling back. "Good girl."

Her sharp look was indignant, before her eyes got a sudden, faraway light to them. "I'm going to need a drink for this," she murmured.

He raised a brow, but didn't question her further as he turned, opening the door to motion to the barkeep, who didn't hesitate in bringing him a glass. Then he shut the door in her face before she could ask any questions, knowing her propensity for meddling in other people's business. Turning to the girl on the couch, he handed her the drink, watching with a twinge of fascination as she took an unexpectedly large sip, a sharp grimace pulling at her features before she swallowed heavily. Surprisingly, she didn't cough it back up. The clenching of trembling fingers around the glass in her hands had his brows furrowing, but he didn't comment on it.

Then she sighed, and the sound was a weary thing, and suddenly she looked years past her age. "I'm going to go out on a whim and assume you've heard of the scandal involving my family a few weeks back," she said then, eyes meeting his. He nodded. It'd been part of his job, after all – he'd needed to know enough about her to keep her properly safe, and that meant a thorough background sweep of her family history.

The McGarden family wasn't one of the most prominent names in Magnolia, but it was pretty darn close. The owner of a large manufacturing company within the automobile industry, McGarden senior had been on the rise in high society for the past few years. Things had been going pretty well, in fact, until a scandal had occurred regarding the ownership of the company. The old man had been named a fraud and a thief, had packed his things and left, and the entire thing had fallen into the hands of his closest business partner, some unknown chap no one had ever heard about. His only remaining family and heir had been thrown out on the street without a penny to her name – or so the rumours said. According to Makarov, there was more to it than that, and there had been talk of a hidden part of the fortune existing in a bank account somewhere – the only one said to know for sure being the woman sitting before him. Which was why he'd been assigned the job of protecting her. He'd thought he'd had all the intel he needed on the girl – everything the old man had given him, he'd marked and memorized.

But going by the dark shadows in her eyes, he had a feeling he'd missed something vital.

Rubbing a hand across her eyes, shortstuff inhaled through her nose, before turning the full force of her gaze on him, and the sheer naked anger in it almost had his brows shooting into his hairline.

"My father didn't just _disappear_," she said then, her hold tightening around the glass in her hands, and her gaze was cold steel in the warm tones of the lounge. "He was murdered, and the man who took his life – who shot him dead right before my eyes–" she stopped herself, biting down on her lower lip.

"Alexei," Gajeel muttered, filling in the blank. She nodded.

He felt his brows pull down sharply. "Then why the hell are _you_ alive?" he asked before he could stop himself, and bit back a groan at the question – if the old man had overheard, he'd have boxed his ears for his glaring lack of, well, delicacy.

If it phased her, though, she didn't show it, but she averted her eyes to her drink. "I'm alive because he didn't see me. I was...hiding, in the library." At this her eyes narrowed in what he recognized as shame. "I should have been at a party, but..." she shook her head, and her eyes were far away, the hurt in them betraying her attempt at cold indifference.

"He didn't know I was there. I wasn't _supposed_ to be there – I'd fallen asleep reading and then I woke to voices...shouting. Daddy, and..._him_," she murmured. "I'd seen him once, with Daddy's associates. Things weren't going well with the company, and my father had been very stressed lately. I thought they were just arguing about _that."_

Her eyes darkened. "Then he pulled out a gun and shot him," she said, downing the rest of the glass – this time erupting into a fit of coughs as she swallowed.

Gajeel raised a brow. "So what, did you hide the body or somethin'? 'Cause rumour has it he just up and left, and dead bodies don't just 'disappear'," he reminded her.

She nodded. "That was my intention – _he_ would have it seem self-inflicted, but I'll not have my father labelled a coward who chose the easy way out."

Gajeel snorted. "'Cause running away is so much better than shooting himself in the head?"

_"Infinitely."_

Her glare met his, and her look brooked no argument as she stared him down. "So you see, Mr. Redfox, if you are planning on taking down Alexei, I want in on it. I will not sit idle while my father's murderer basks in the glory of stolen fortunes while he plans his next theft." And then she rose to her full, unimpressive height, but damn him if he wasn't a little impressed. Squaring her tiny shoulders and raising her chin in that ridiculously haughty way of hers, her voice held a quality to it that seemed to fill the entire room.

"I want to avenge my family."

Dark brown eyes stared him down as though she was ready to fight him over the decision if she had to, and a part of him wanted to let her. Part of him – the deeply righteous part that had known the true sting of injustice and deceit – wanted to teach her to hold a damn gun so she could shoot the bastard herself.

But another side of him – the protective side he rarely ever felt the need to let out into the light – didn't want her anywhere near the shit he dealt with on a daily basis. Because that shit left scars – deep scars. Deeper than the shit she'd already seen, even though that had to be pretty nasty. From what she'd told him, her life hadn't been the privileged rose-walk he'd given her hell for on their meeting, but that didn't mean he was about to let her throw herself into the shadows of the criminal underworld so she could see her father's name cleared.

Even if she was looking at him like _that_.

Sighing heavily, Gajeel reached down to take the glass form her small hands, noting the slight tremble to her fingers as they brushed against his. "It ain't that simple, Shorty," he muttered as he placed the glass on the table beside them. She glared, about to open her mouth, but he cut her off.

"What you overheard earlier," he grumbled, "was me reporting in from my job. Not babysittin' your ass – that's extra work. The shit I do for the old man..." he leaned closer, voice a dark rumble, "it'd curl your toes."

Her glare didn't waver. "Enlighten me," she snapped, and her gall almost had him smirking.

Almost.

Pulling back, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I work between the old man's company and his son's. Ivan Dreyar – or 'Alexei' as you know him," he said, watching as her entire posture stiffened at the name. "He's got the business world on a leash. Your old man's company? Not the first he's taken, and you sure as hell ain't the only one after his head," he growled.

"Then what is the prob–"

"The _problem_," he cut her off, his glare hard. "Is that there's no bloody evidence against him. On paper, the companies he takes always goes to some unknown chap – a _puppet. _Ivan just pulls the strings."

His gaze hardened as he took in her defiant stance. "They both know I work between the companies, but only the boss' got my loyalty. Now, I've worked damn hard to establish this damn connection," he growled. "And I ain't about to let your little quest for revenge compromise it. It won't just be my life, Shorty – it'll be everyone's. Blondie's, Cana's – you name them, he'll kill 'em if he finds out."

That little piece of information had her anger wavering, he could tell, but she didn't back down. "What about _you_ then?" she asked. "What are your intentions with...with this double-agent business?"

His smirk was a wicked thing. "To bring down Ivan Dreyar and everything he stands for."

She stepped closer, almost enough to take him by surprise. "Then our motives are the same. I want to help you!"

He scoffed. "Shorty–"

"No," she cut him off. "Don't 'Shorty' me, Gajeel Redfox. I'm offering my help – no, I'm asking you to _let_ me help," she said, her tone fervent. "Teach me how to shoot – how to _fight_! I'll make myself _useful _if that's the problem!" Her eyes burned as they bore into his, and damn him if she wasn't reeling him in with her nerve.

"I _won't_ be a burden," she emphasised.

And there was that damn feeling of indecision – the feeling that, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea. Only that it would. It'd be a terrible idea, in fact, because if Ivan found out what he was doing...it was one thing if the man discovered that he was protecting the heir to one of his most recent victims – he could play that off as just doing what Makarov ordered him to. But if he found out said heir knew the true business he ran...

"Forget it."

He turned to leave, determined to be unrelenting to the last, but a small hand on his wrist had him stopping, and the sheer force behind her words had something snapping in him.

"_Please_."

Turning his head back to look at her, Gajeel allowed his gaze to shift down to the tiny hand, before landing on the thick silk ribbon wrapped around her wrist – no doubt meant to hide the evidence of his temper on the day of her arrival, as he caught the tinge of blue peeking out from where it had come loose. Like her hair, the russet colour of the silk fabric made the colour stand out. It was evidence that her attitude – sharp as it was – was nothing against brute force.

A testament that a girl like her shouldn't meddle in _his_ world.

"You bruise easily," was all he said, before pulling out of her grip and striding towards the door. Hand on the doorknob, he felt something holding him back – demanding a better explanation.

Oh, damn it all to _hell_.

"I was assigned to protect you," he grumbled, although he didn't dare look at her – didn't dare meet those eyes and what they asked of him. Because as much as he wanted to, he couldn't give her the revenge she sought. Things were complicated enough without her vendetta against Ivan – she'd just have to get in line with the hundreds of other sods whose lives he'd ruined.

Sliding the door open, the noise of the speakeasy crashed against him like a wave, almost swallowing his next words as they left his tongue.

"I'm just doin' my job."

Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

"You scared her off, didn't you?"

Ignoring the humorously accusing tone of his friend and long-time partner, Gajeel cut through the crowd, eager for some fresh air to clear his head. When his quip didn't earn him the response he was expecting, Lily followed at his heels, ever the worry-wart.

"Oye, Gajeel–" catching the door as it almost slammed into his face, the dark skinned man pushed it away as he stepped outside and into the back alley of the speakeasy. Gajeel was already lighting a cigarette, thoroughly ignoring the questioning look of his friend. Inhaling deeply, he breathed out, leaning his back against the brick wall behind him as he let the smoke soothe his temper. Lily was silent for a long moment, allowing him his peace.

But true to his worrying nature, it didn't last long.

"You planning on telling me what happened? Last I saw you dragged the poor girl off, and now you're out here smokin' like it'll save your life," he said.

Gajeel snorted. "Maybe it will."

Lily raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. "What happened?" he asked again.

Pressing his knuckles against his forehead, Gajeel sighed. "Shorty's got baggage."

At his friend's raised brow – clearly asking him if he wasn't being somewhat of a hypocrite – Gajeel rolled his eyes. "Not _that_ kind of baggage, fool. _Baggage,"_ he emphasised. "Shit's going to make things damn difficult," he exhaled, the smoke curling on the cold air.

At his gesture he threw a cigarette towards his partner, who caught it swiftly before lighting it, and for a few blessed minutes neither of them said anything. Gajeel closed his eyes, enjoying the quiet of the Alleys at night. Other than the occasional scuffle in the distance from the hundred-something cats who frequented the area, the winding lanes of the city outskirts provided a calm solitude that was hard to find anywhere else in Magnolia. If there was ever any doubt as to why he preferred the Alleys to the inner city, the privacy was a damn good example.

Finally, Lily spoke. "I'm going to assume you're talking about job-related baggage," he said, tone curious. Gajeel raised a disbelieving brow.

"The hell kind of other baggage would it be?"

Lily shrugged. "She's cute – you'd do well with a girl on your arm, for a change. Life's got to get lonely with a cold bed every night."

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "That all you ever think about? Getting me woman? Not like I can see any on _your_ arm," he snorted.

There was a wistful, almost sad smile on Lily's face. "I've got my regrets in life," was all he said, and Gajeel didn't push further. Close as they were, they hadn't always known each other, and there was a time before their friendship that Lily rarely spoke about, but Gajeel had always assumed there'd been a woman involved somehow. There always seemed to be in every personal drama – bloody troublemakers that they were. It wasn't that he didn't _care. _In fact, he was damn curious. Ever since first meeting the man, he'd been full of questions. He'd been barely fifteen when he'd first stumbled into the Pit, dirty, angry and ready to pound someone out of their mind, and had found an unexpected friend in the owner of the run-down little club. Lily had a warm sense of humour that didn't at all match the scars he carried – scars that didn't' come from the ring. Gajeel had questions, sure, but out of respect for his good friend and partner, he just didn't pry.

Lily, however, had no such qualms.

"Seriously, Gajeel – what happened?" he asked, again, breathing out a mouthful of smoke. "She came by all shy looking for you – why the hell are you out here brooding and not in there showing her a good time?"

"It's complicated."

Lily rolled his eyes. "It's always complicated with you, you damn drama queen."

"Oye, now–"

"Hey, I'm not the one running from a woman half my size," Lily remarked, holding his hands up.

Gajeel snorted, turning his head away. "I ain't running."

"Then what would you call it?"

"..."

"'Cause to me, it looks like you're running."

"Shaddup."

Lily rolled his eyes. "You need to come up with better comebacks."

"_You_ need to stop making my private life your own business."

"I will the day you've stopped being such a stubborn idiot."

"That'll never happen."

Lily grinned. "Exactly."

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "I ain't discussing this with you," he said, pointing an accusing finger at his friend. "There's actually _nothing_ to discuss."

Lily snorted derisively. "Really? So the situation between you and Levy is all peachy, is that what you're saying?"

Throwing the butt of his cigarette to the ground, Gajeel stamped it out with his boot. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Didn't look that way to me when you came running out of there with your tail between your legs."

"I didn't _run._ I _walked._ Brusquely."

His friend snorted. "Please. You looked like you were two seconds away from crashing through the damn door if it'd get you out sooner. You're not fooling me, Gajeel, and I'll ask until you tell me – what the hell happened between the two of you? Did she finally get enough of your attitude, is that it?"

Gajeel rolled his eyes, remembering their stand-off outside the gym earlier. "Resigned herself to it," he muttered. Lily raised a brow.

"Then what the hell is your problem? If she's willing to put up with your crap, why aren't you marrying the girl already?"

"Hardy har _har,_ Lil. You bein' funny now?"

"I'm always funny," Lily said, expression completely serious.

Gajeel shook his head. "Just drop it, already."

"Nope."

He rolled his eyes. "Please?" he mocked.

Lily grinned. "You are telling me even if I have to beat it out of you. And we've established already that I've got the upper hand in the ring, so if I were you I'd save myself the bruises and just get it over with."

"Meddler"

"You're welcome."

Gajeel snorted, reaching into his pocked for another cigarette. _"Fine,_ but wipe that damn smile off yer face!"

Lily grinned. "Not a chance. I'll bask in the glory of my success as much as I please," he announced, taking a long drag of his cigarette. Gajeel grumbled under his breath as he lit his, putting it to his lips. A clatter of trash-cans had his ears perking, but the indignant hiss of some jilted feline assured him it wasn't anything serious. Letting his eyes rove the shadows around them, he made sure they were well and truly alone before speaking. One could never be entirely sure of ones privacy in the Alleys. The walls have ears, as the saying went, and caution never hurt. Not with his job, at least.

"You know about her situation?" he asked after a moment of silence. Lily nodded, coming to stand next to him and leaning his weight against the wall.

"Old man might have mentioned something about it."

Gajeel snorted. "Well, if shit wasn't complicated before, it sure as hell is now."

Lily frowned. "Oh?"

Gajeel sighed, risking another glance around them, before giving his friend a look. "You know what the job's about, don't you?"

Catching on, Lily nodded. "Smuggling, yeah?"

"Yeah. Well, there's an issue with the _shipment_. Turns out, I've got a little more than I bargained for."

Lily's brows furrowed. "That happens sometimes," he said. Gajeel nodded.

"True, but this time the boss forgot to mention that the cargo came with a little extra vengeance on the side."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Turns out, the cargo isn't too well pleased with the new manufacturer."

Lily frowned, eyes shifting to the shadows around them. "Yeah?"

Gajeel took a drag of his cigarette, lowering his voice as he spoke. "Turns out her old man didn't up and disappear – he was bumped off. And guess where the _real_ fun begins?" He raised his brows for emphasis.

Realization dawned on his friend. "Why am I not surprised he's got something to do with it," he muttered darkly.

Gajeel nodded. "See the shit situation I'm in now? The hell am I supposed to deal with this? Say the bastard comes after her or somethin'. _Fuck,_ I'm _so_ not paid enough for this," he grumbled.

Lily's look was thoughtful. "Can the cargo shoot?"

"With those skinny arms? Tch – I'm surprised she can lift her own purse."

"Can't you teach her?"

"Like that's a walk in the park. She's an upper class brat, Lil. Only gun she's probably ever seen is the one that shot her old man."

Lily shrugged. "So? If she's going to survive in _this_ world she's going to need to know how to protect herself. You're not always going to be around, you know."

"'Course I know, but it ain't that easy."

"I never said it was," Lily retorted. "I just said it'd be the smart thing to do."

"And if she decides to take matters into her own hands?"

Lily gave him a look. "That can be avoided," he pointed out. "You've just got to let her in on your job."

"The hell kind of advice is _that?" _

Lily rolled his eyes. "Let her know why you're doing what you are. Allow her _some_ insight – enough to make her feel like she's contributing, but not enough to put her in danger. If what you said is true, I'm guessing she's pretty damn desperate to do _something. _Hell, anyone would be, in her shoes._"_

Gajeel rubbed at his forehead. "Damn it, Lily – stop making sense!"

Lily grinned. "What can I say? With age comes wisdom," he said, exhaling.

"You're ten years older than me."

"And don't you forget it," he warned, tone playful, before his expression turned serious. "But joke aside, you really should consider involving her. It'd make your jobs easier, and maybe it'd loosen some of the tension that's between the two of you."

"There's no tension."

Lily raised a brow. "I wasn't born yesterday, Gajeel. I can damn well recognize sexual tension when I see it. Hell, _Natsu_ could have recognized it with the sparks flying off the two of you in the Pit earlier."

…

He grinned. "Nothing to say to that, Redfox?"

"Shaddup!"

Lily threw back his head, his booming laughter filling the alleyway, and Gajeel felt like throttling him. "Yeah, yeah, _laugh_."

Lily raised his cigarette in a mock-salute. "I live to tease," he declared grandly, before dropping it to the ground and stamping it out with his shoe. Fixing his vest, he turned his gaze to the doorway, and the muffled music drifting out to them from inside.

"Well, I think I'll head back inside – Mira owes me a dance," he said with a wink. Gajeel's brows furrowed sharply as he watched him go.

"You're not telling her anything."

Lily looked too innocent for his own good. "Did I say I would?"

"I can tell from the look of you, you damn gossip-monger."

His grin was decidedly cat-like, which was never a good sign, in Gajeel's experience. "Don't worry, I won't let anything crucial slip. I'll just make up something that'll have the rumour mills going. You know how it is," he shrugged.

"Can't say that I do, as I don't poke my damn nose into other people's business," Gajeel growled, but there was no real malice in his tone. Lily shrugged, waving a hand as he grasped the handle of the door to let himself in, turning his head to look at Gajeel as he went.

"Don't overthink it, my friend. Just go with your gut – it usually leads to the right places."

And then he was gone, the heavy door slamming shut behind him and leaving Gajeel in the alley, grumbling at the shadows. Darkness had fallen some time ago, and the little light available came from one of the upper story windows that faced out towards the back street. In the distance, a cat scrambled across a row of trash-cans, creating a cacophony of noise in its wake.

Rubbing at his temples, he considered his options. First of all, he had to find the girl. Then he had to figure out how to deal with the mess the old man had gotten him into without compromising either of his jobs. And hell, maybe Lily was right – maybe keeping her informed was his best option. It'd get him out of having to come up with excuses for his behaviour, for one. And if she knew the extent of the trouble she was in, she was less likely to run off to do something stupid. And if he somehow managed to convince her that his and the old man's mission to take out her father's killer was going to end in success, she was less inclined to try to do the man off herself. Because if that happened – and failed, as it inevitably would – Gajeel didn't even want to _think_ about what Ivan would do to retaliate.

Inhaling his last breath of smoke, he stomped out his second cigarette, exhaling deeply as he made his way towards the entrance.

First of all, he needed to get some things sorted out with the old man.

* * *

AN: The plot thickens. And the thought of Gajeel teaching Levy how to shoot or throw a punch had me giggling like a fangirl, so I'll definitely be adding that later. Oh, and Lily's past will also be revealed, but for now I'll let your imaginations have fun with it. Feedback is appreciated! And cookies. Cookies are also appreciated.

**bump off**: to kill/to murder.


	6. river wild

AN: So this is the first chapter dedicated to Natsu and Lucy, and the setting takes place during the first two chapters. **If you don't like NaLu as a pairing, reading is not required for the rest of the story**, but hey, maybe you'll like it anyway? (If not, see the bold lettered warning that says you don't have to read?)

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter VI**

Her escort was _late._

Tapping her foot against the cobblestones, Lucy felt a sigh pulling itself free of her throat. Makarov had told her he'd have someone picking her up at noon by the Magnolia river, but the sun was already slanting across the rooftops and the air was getting chilly, and there was still no sight of that _someone_ anywhere in the near vicinity.

Holding back a yawn, she allowed her eyes to wander across the expanse of the river, glittering in the soft sunlight of late afternoon. Along the riverbank, couples walked together, basking in the warm weather, and she sighed at the sight. She'd been standing around like a public spectacle for _hours_ – or at least that's what it felt like, with the curious eyes constantly drifting in her direction. Adjusting her hat to make sure it hid her hair, she glanced about her nervously. She'd stressed to Makarov the need for subtlety in aiding with her escape. Not that her father ever kept an eye on what she was up to, but now that she had finally taken that tentative first step out of the suffocating grip of her old life, she felt she couldn't relax until she'd secured her success, for fear that there would be someone there to pull her back. She didn't know what her father would do when he found out she'd left, but the thought was far from pleasant.

Brushing her gloved hands against her skirt, she inhaled deeply through her nose, revelling in the fresh air of the river as it brushed against her skin. She'd always liked this part of the city – with it's winding promenade and the small, quaint shops lined along the riverside. It was peaceful. Nothing like the constant bustle of the inner city. And although not the complete solitude of her father's mansion on the finer outskirts, it held a warmth and familiarity that her home had ceased to have the day her mother died.

Brows furrowing in thought, Lucy fingered the hem of her glove, a sense of restlessness settling upon her shoulders as she shifted her gaze across the street and the people around her. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as she could tell, but it did little to ease the frantic stutter of her beating heart. Wringing her hands nervously, she was about to check the position of the sun for the umpteenth time when what felt like a brick wall suddenly slammed into her, sending her sprawling, and a yelp of surprise tore itself from her throat as she toppled over the edge of the promenade and into the river, the last glimpse she got before her entire world tipped on its head being a blur of _pink–_

–and then he water sucked her down, and she flailed with her arms wildly, desperately grappling for the surface as her lungs filled with the burning liquid. Panic spread from her heart and to the tips of her fingers, but she didn't have long to contemplate her situation before a hand suddenly closed about the front of her blouse, hauling her up–

–and then head broke the surface, her lungs were pulling in air even as she felt like coughing them up along with the water in her system. Her vision was blurred with water and the soaked strands of her own hair – her hat having fallen off in her tumble – and she coughed and spluttered and flailed with her arms for _something_ to grab onto.

Then the hand – a very _warm,_ rough hand – closed about her wrist, and all she could see were a pair of stormy grey eyes and the flash of an apologetic smile as she suddenly found herself pulled up and onto the stones of the riverbank. Arms still flailing, Lucy wiped at her eyes to push her hair away and to get a bearing of her surroundings, still hacking up water and blinking furiously. There were calloused fingers in her hair then, pushing it out of her eyes, and a part of her screamed at the glaringly obvious breach of propriety, but then the sound of a warm, humoured voice had all her attention directed elsewhere.

"Hey – you alright?"

Momentarily distracted by the eyes looking down at her, Lucy gathered her wits, spluttering as she slapped his hands away form her face.

"Alright?!_ Am I alright?!" _

She scampered backwards on the stones, sensing eyes on her from all around the riverbank, and she felt an infuriated, embarrassed blush spread from her neck to her cheeks and the very tips of her ears as she regarded the now laughing man in front of her.

"Why are you laughing?!" she all but shrieked.

He grinned. "You're funny," he said with a shrug. "It's not every day people take a bath in the river."

"_You pushed me in!" _

"Did I?" he blinked, before another toothy grin flashed across his face, and his eyes crinkled as he placed a hand to the back of is head. "Ah, my bad then!"

And then he laughed.

Lucy seethed, scrambling to pick herself up from the ground. Her skirt and blouse were soaked through and her shoes were full of river-water, and her dripping hair was clinging to her face like a mop. She had to look like a drenched cat.

And he was _still_ _laughing._

"Stop that!" she snapped, her anger getting the better of her as she stamped her foot, but the sight of her only had him laughing even harder. She opened her mouth, about to yell, when he suddenly thrust his hand out towards her.

"I'm Natsu! You're Lucy, right? Pleased to meet you!"

Lucy blinked, staring at the hand in surprise, before her eyes travelled up his arm to the rest of him. He wasn't much older than herself – twenty, perhaps older – and he had the slim but lean build of someone used to manual labour. His dark grey eyes were crinkled in good humour, his smile wide and canines almost unnaturally sharp, and atop his head the most ridiculous, bright shade of pink she'd ever seen had her brows shooting into her hairline. Dressed in a pair of simple trousers and a loose white shirt held down by a pair of simple, black suspenders, he definitely wasn't from her circles.

But he wasn't a street-rat, either. And he'd known her name...

"Did Makarov send you?" she asked, tone dubious, and his grin only widened. Her eyes narrowed as she made the connection.

Ah. Her missing escort. Wonderful.

"I was running late, so I ran," he declared with a laugh. "Then I must have bumped into you – sorry about that!"

Lucy felt her eye twitch at his casual handling of the fact that he'd nearly _drowned_ her, and glowered as he shook her hand eagerly. "Yes, _thank_ _you_ for that," she grumbled, looking down on her drenched form. Following her gaze, his eyes lit up in surprise.

"Ah! You're soaked!" he said, as though just _now_ noticing this. Lucy blinked, before exploding,

"Of course I'm soaked! _You pushed me in the river!"_

He grinned. "Well, you should change clothes before you get sick," he said with a nod. Lucy rolled her eyes.

"Great advice, thank you," she muttered, and turned to look for her suitcase–

–only to find none. She blinked, and then remembered she'd asked for Makarov to have it picked up from her home, as walking out of the mansion looking like she was planning on leaving for good would have raised some kind of clamour and alerted her father. Closing her eyes with a weary sigh, she rubbed at her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache push its way forward.

The day was just getting better and better...

Turning her gaze to her companion, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't suppose _you_ have a spare set of clothes?" she asked. It was meant to be a jest, but the man before her nodded.

"Sure do. Want to borrow some?" he asked, tilting his head, and Lucy could only gape, seeing that he was, in fact, completely serious. As though being asked by a complete stranger – and a _woman_ to boot – for a change of clothes wasn't at all odd.

Then she sighed. "Oh, why not?"

He grinned, and it was potent sunshine, and she almost found herself returning the smile when he suddenly grabbed her hand, and before she could splutter a protest he was dragging her down the streets – not at all mindful of the stares they were attracting. Lucy felt like digging herself a hole.

"Where are we going?" she hissed as she was tugged along with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. He flashed her a grin over his shoulder, and the sunlight catching in his hair had her next question dying on her tongue.

"Fairy Tail!" he whispered with a wink, before picking up his pace.

…

"_EH?" _

But her incredulity was swallowed by the sound of his laughter – loud and booming and bouncing off the walls of the buildings around them, and Lucy could do nothing but allow herself to be lead. Through the streets their journey went, and then into the shadowed back-streets she knew as the Alleys, and she held back a twinge of concern at the thought. She knew Makarov had more to his name than his estate in the outskirts and his offices in the inner city, but surely not in the _Alleys_...? She'd never actually ventured into the maze of lanes and passageways, but she'd been close many times. In her early adolescence, she'd more than once slipped away from her governess on outings to have a look at the parts of the city her prim and proper educator would never even have considered walking through. When she became older, the rumours held her back – whispers of a large network of street gangs and criminals. And, of course, after the ban had been enforced – the speakeasies they frequented.

Rounding another corner, she yelped as she almost tripped over a crate in the middle of their way, but her companion only tugged her forward, laughing at her clumsiness. She muttered under her breath, but allowed him to lead. She assumed Makarov had a reason behind his choice – he wouldn't have sent a completely incompetent person to get her. This Natsu as he called himself – he was allowed to be eccentric so long as he got her safely to her new home.

It didn't take long – but at the pace he was dragging her along it was hardly a surprise – before she found herself outside a rusty old door located in the very corner of an alleyway, almost hidden from sight by stacks of crates and barrels. Lucy regarded it with a dubious look, but the man at her side grinned, gesturing grandly to the general area.

"We're here!"

She shot him a look. "And 'here' is...?"

He grinned. "I told you – Fairy Tail!"

She considered the door before her, and what he was saying. The most spoken-about gin mill in Magnolia – nothing less. She was having a hard time believing this to be _it_. Well, she hadn't seen the inside yet. And maybe her mood was getting to her, but that had a good deal to do with the fact that she was drenched.

Speaking of which.

"You said you had a change of clothes?" she reminded him. Natsu nodded, almost eagerly.

"Come on in and I'll get it – I just need to, ah, sort out my stuff first," he said with a sheepish smile, and she almost rolled her eyes as she followed him inside, noting with a hint of surprise that he held the door open for her. Maybe he wasn't a complete idiot, after all. Ahead was an old corridor and a set of stairs, and it looked far from the state of the building's exterior. Dark wooden floorboards and a tapestry that looked almost new...it was definitely not what she'd expected from the door they'd entered.

"I hope they're clean," she said as the door slid shut behind them, a note of warning in her tone. He snorted.

"'Course they're clean – why would I wear dirty clothes?"

She rolled her eyes. Maybe she'd been a little too optimistic in her assumptions. "I meant I hope they're not _used_."

He blinked, looking at her soaked form, and raised a brow. "Can you afford to be picky?"

"I can be as picky as I want!"

He only grinned at her outburst, before nodding towards the stairs to their left. "Alright, alright. I'll go get them, so just go to the bar. It's through that door!" he said, pointing her down the corridor to a door at its end before dashing up the stairs. Lucy grumbled to herself before stomping down the hallway.

Honestly! First pushing her into the river, then dragging her through the Alleys to one of the most famous speakeasies in the city, and then he has the gall to tell her how to act! The nerve! No manners whatsoever...what kind of people were Makarov associating with?!

She got her answer shortly after entering the bar, and she felt an almost exasperated sigh as she took in the sight of a familiar face. "Why am I not surprised to find you here," she mused as she walked towards Cana, who grinned at the sight of her.

"Lucy! You're here – Natsu didn't–" she stopped, eyes raking across the wet skirt and blouse, and the small puddle she was making on the hardwood floor. She blinked. "–make a mess. Whoa, girl, what happened to you?"

Lucy snorted, seating herself at the bar, mindful of her dripping skirt. "Oh, he just pushed me in the river. Nothing worse."

Cana quirked a smile. "Well, knowing him, I'd say you got off lightly. I'm surprised he remembered to get you."

"Yeah, well he wasn't exactly on time," Lucy grumbled. Cana was about to retort when the door swung open, revealing the object of their conversation, carrying a small pile of clothes in his arms.

"Found some! Here ya go, Luce!" he said, thrusting them at her with all the grace of a child. Accepting the shift, she rolled her eyes at his over-familiarity.

"It's 'Lucy', but...thank you," she said, sifting through the clothes. A man's pants and shirt. Her father would've thrown a fit at the mere notion. She felt a smirk tug at her lips.

Perfect.

"Is there somewhere I can change in private?" she asked Cana, who pointed to the back of the establishment.

"Storage room. I'll make sure no one comes in," she said, almost off-handedly as she lit a cigarette.

"Thank you," she murmured, shooting Natsu a warning look before making her way towards the appointed room, her new clothes clutched in her hands.

And as she was changing into them, the situation she was in seemed to dawn on her. Pulling on a pair of pants that were much too wide for her hips and accompanied with a shirt that was too large, the fact that she'd run away from home finally settled. But where she'd expected there to be panic, there was only a strange feeling of release. It was like she could breathe better – like there'd been a weight on her chest for a long time that had suddenly been lifted.

Rolling up the sleeves of the shirt, Lucy allowed herself to smile. It felt...good. Wonderful, actually. Rebellious and dangerous, and her father would be absolutely _furious_ when he found out, but damn it all if it wasn't perfect.

Brushing her hands against her thighs, she picked up her wet clothes, carrying them out as she exited her makeshift changing room. Upon her approach, Cana gave her a whistle and a wink. "Damn, Luce, that actually suits you. And I hear it's all the rage in the big cities these days," she said slyly. Lucy grinned despite herself, placing her old clothes down on one of the stools before seating herself on the one beside it. Natsu was already seated, giving her an odd sort of look, before he turned his gaze on Cana.

"The old man in?" he asked. She shook her head, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"Sorry, love, you just missed him. But he said he'd be back before tonight – we'll be open by eight, as usual."

Lucy chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "When you say 'old man'..." she began. Natsu grinned.

"Yeah, you've met him before right? Said he knew you, at least."

Lucy frowned. "Yeah, I know him through my father, but..." she trailed off, eyes shifting around the room, taking in the bar, the round tables and the chairs, the heavy draperies and the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, giving it a luxurious feeling even in the soft afternoon light. It was a large room with a high ceiling and dark, hardwood floors. This was no run-down juice joint, and though she'd never been to a speakeasy in her life, it didn't take an expert to see the obvious – this was class, and class came with money. She already had an idea of the answer to the question that was nagging at the forefront of her mind, but she had to know for certain.

"So, what exactly does he have to do with this place?"

The grins on their faces spoke volumes. She sighed.

_Oh, dear. What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

In retrospect, she shouldn't have been surprised.

Brushing a comb through her now dry hair, Lucy glared at the still grinning man before her, seated on the barstool next to hers. "Applesauce," she muttered. And it wasn't her state of dress she was referring to – although it was a far cry from what she would usually wear, there was no denying the comfort of the oversized trousers and shirt. And yeah, maybe they smelled nice – like some kind of exotic spice – but that didn't mean she was going to let _him_ know.

The owner of her makeshift wardrobe was still smiling – did he find _everything_ amusing? – when something heavy thumped down on his head, making him yelp and make a grab for his hair. From atop the bar, Makarov grumbled. "Insolent boy! I specified that your mission was to be handled with care, and what do you do?!"

Natsu grumbled, rubbing the sore spot on his head. "Geeze, Gramps, I only bumped into her! I didn't know she'd fall in the river!"

From beside Makarov, Cana snorted, and Lucy shot her a sharp look, to which her old friend only grinned in return. "It's quite alright, Mr. Makarov," Lucy said, flicking her hair over one shoulder as she attempted to comb out the knots, sending the pink-haired man a sidelong glare. The older man sighed.

"I am truly sorry, Lucy dear. I will have your suitcase brought over as soon as possible so you can change," he said, and Lucy smiled at the consideration.

She'd always liked Makarov. Of her father's associates, who were mostly chauvinistic perverts, the kind old man with the good-humoured smile had been a source of safety and familiarity throughout a large portion of her childhood, bringing her gifts from his travels where the others would only tell her to scram. And upon her adolescence, when the glances of her father's partners had turned from irritated to leering and suggestive, Makarov had still treated her like a lady. So when her decision fell to leave her father and her home, the choice of who to ask for help had been an easy one.

And she would accept her new life with vigour and gratefulness, even if his associates wouldn't know manners if it slapped them in the face.

"Here you go, Luce – a sharp drink always does the trick," Cana said, sliding a glass towards her, which Lucy accepted with a smile. Natsu lit up beside her.

"Hey, Cana–"

And Makarov thumped him across the head again. "No drinks for you!" he snapped. Natsu whined.

"Come on, Gramps! She's fine now, isn't she? I gave her clothes!"

Makarov snorted. "You will contemplate your actions in dead sobriety, boy, until the severity of the situation dawns on you. What if she couldn't swim?"

"But there's a party tonight! "

Makarov waved him off. "You can keep that in mind the next time you dawdle in your assignments."

Natsu grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and levelling Lucy with a glare. "This is _your_ fault," he declared. She spluttered.

"_My_ fault?! You're the one who wasn't watching were you were going! And you were _late!"_

"So? You could've kept an eye out!"

"Oooh! I'll–"

"Children," Makarov cut them off, the smile on his bearded face a warning that his patience was wearing thin. Lucy grumbled to herself, sipping her drink. Makarov crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly all business.

"I do apologise for his behaviour, my dear, but I ask that you please put up with him, as he is to look out for you from now on," he explained, and Lucy could only sigh. Just her luck, too.

Natsu pouted with all the indignation of a child. "Do I have to? She's no fun."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "I'm fun to those who don't push me into rivers," she muttered. Makarov smiled from beside her, and she found her eyes drawn to the flamboyant outfit he'd dressed himself in.

Nope. She really shouldn't have been surprised to find that the eccentric old man from her memories turned out to be the owner of one of of the most famous speakeasies in Magnolia. Honestly, seeing him in this environment, jesting and laughing along with his many adopted children – because she was by no means the first – she found that it suited him a lot better than the stuffy old suits and boring business associates of her father's world.

A smile tugged at her lips as she sipped her drink, and as the sharp tang of alcohol slipped down her throat, warming her belly, she found that – all things considered – she'd landed in a much better place than she'd anticipated. Because, really, her decision to leave her home had been nothing short of impulsive. It had been brewing for some years, yes, but she hadn't actually counted on taking the leap before she found herself fervently packing her suitcase one morning, eyes stinging with tears from her last encounter with her father and vowing fervently that she would never step foot in her home ever again.

Her brows pulled down into a frown as she considered this, and she looked into the swirling dark liquid of her glass.

What would he say when he noticed she was gone, she wondered. Would he be angry? She doubted it – she'd never been the heir he'd wanted, anyway. Too much like her mother for her own good, the servants had murmured in the wake of one of her many tirades. The suffocating hold of her father's world had almost choked the life right out of her, and she'd always had too much of a free spirit to be confined to the rules of the high life. An arranged marriage – and she knew her father had been looking for potential suitors for some time now – would have killed her for certain.

"Hey," the voice pulled her out of her musings, and she looked up into the eyes of her newly assigned protector. There was still humour in them, but a hint of concern swamp in their depths. "You okay?"

And despite their disastrous first encounter, her unwanted dive into the Magnolia river and the fact that she was now under the guardianship of one of the biggest smugglers of alcohol in Fiore, a genuine smile stretched across her face for the first time in what felt like an age.

"Yeah," she said, taking another sip of her drink, and her companion grinned. "It's all the bee's knees," she said with a wink.

Natsu could only laugh. "You're an oddball, Luce," he said with a shake of his head.

"It's 'Lucy', and you're one to talk!"

He grinned, and was about to speak when Cana pushed her way into Lucy's line of sight, a smirk on her face, and Lucy could only smile as she took in this new form of her childhood friend. As daughters of large company moguls, they'd known each other since they could walk, and Lucy had always known there was more to the brunette than the perfectly docile lady she presented for her father's business associates. Seeing her in her right element – dressed with all the subtlety of a real flapper and with a cigarette constantly at her lips – Lucy felt a twinge of hope for her own future. Perhaps it didn't need to end on the arm of one of her father's partners – a trophy for high society to see, but behind closed doors, the jilted wife always put aside in favour of a prettier, younger face.

As she took in the wicked smile of her old friend, Lucy finally felt she had something to fight for. This freedom – _this life_ – was worth all the money in the world. She didn't need her father's inheritance – not if she could have _this_.

Because some things were worth so infinitely much more than money.

And she would discover later that night, getting ready for bed in her new room in her new _home, _still dressed like a man and smelling like river-water, that she really had all she needed.

_**"Lucy!"**_

Because as her best friend came hurtling into the room, throwing her arms around her and burying a head of bright, bright blue hair into the crook of her neck and laughing with barely contained joy, Lucy pushed all thoughts of regret to the furthest reaches of her mind as she embraced her friend with vigour, spinning her round and round as her own laughter bubbled up from her throat. It didn't matter that she'd run away from home, or that her father had long since forgotten what really mattered in life. It didn't matter that she'd been thrown headfirst into a river and a completely new life without so much as a warning. None of it mattered. Because as she pulled back at look at her best friend, tears of joy swimming in familiar brown eyes, Lucy could only grin.

"Levy! What are you doing here?!"

Levy grinned through her tears, and it was now that Lucy took notice of the dark shape looming in the doorway to her room, but her attention was quickly swallowed by the smile on the smaller woman's face – a smile she hadn't seen since the McGarden-scandal had graced it's first front page.

"I could ask you the same thing!" the smaller woman laughed, eyes crinkling with a smile. Looking her over, no doubt taking in her new attire, Levy's small hands tightened in their grip on her own, and when their gazes met, there was a determined light in her red-rimmed eyes, and a fervent tone to her voice as she spoke,

"You finally did it? You left?"

The query was simple, but for Lucy it held so infinitely much more. Inhaling deeply, she nodded once, brusquely. An image of her mother's smiling face leaped out at her from her memories, and she felt a smile spread across her face, and her gaze echoed the determination in the eyes of her companion.

"It would seem so."

And as she stood there, latched onto her tiny friend like a lifeline, Lucy Heartfilia felt, for the first time since her mother's death...

Happiness.

Pure, unhindered, uncomplicated happiness.

* * *

AN: A little Lucy-insight to add to the story. Interestingly enough, I was a bit of a NaLu shipper before chapter 47 when my entire attention was captured by Gajeel and Levy. Still think they're adorable, though.


	7. saturday night special

AN: What is this? Two updates in the span of one day? But 'tis the case. I wanted to get this out a little early as I am moving tomorrow – to Britain! And as I don't know when I'll be able to get an Internet connection, I thought I'd give you all a little treat if there should be a delay.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter VII**

"Is it possible to be _more_ infuriating?"

Pacing the length of the room, Levy stopped by the window, before turning sharply on her heel to stomp back and across to the vanity, arms crossed over her chest and fuming softly. From beside her, Lucy watched with an amused smile on her face, seated as she was on the edge of her bed. Sunlight bathed the room in a warm glow – the promise of a good day, and below, the muffled scuffle of feet and the faint clink of glasses and murmured voices reached their ears – Mirajane and Cana having no doubt gotten to business with the chores of the day.

"I mean, it's not like I was asking him to smuggle me into his office so I could shoot him," she continued, her pacing picking up speed. "I just want to _help_. Is that so much to ask? To help bring down the man who's a thorn in the side of the entire city?"

Lucy shrugged. "Well, it's not the easiest job, Lev."

Levy threw her hands up. "Did I say it was? I just...I feel _helpless_, Lu. Argh! This would be so much easier if I was a man! If I could hold a gun or...or throw a punch! I wouldn't be so...so socially crippled."

Lucy raised a brow, a smile tugging at her lips. "You think that'd convince him to let you in on his job?"

She snorted. "Probably not. He's too pig-headed for his own good – wouldn't accept help even if his life depended on it, I'm sure."

Sighing heavily, she sat down on the chair before the vanity, casting a look at the reflection staring back at her. It was the morning after the big party, and her hair was it's usual bird's nest – and even more so after a night of restless sleep. Her dress hung innocently by her dresser, and her shoes had been discarded haphazardly somewhere in the room upon her entrance the night before, seething as she had been after the events and her little stand-off with Gajeel.

Rubbing a hand against the bridge of her nose, she scowled at her reflection. Perhaps things would have been easier if she truly had been a man. Claiming her father's company for her own was out of the question in her current state – no one had ever looked at her as anything but her father's docile, pretty daughter who liked to do 'frivolous' activities like read books and learn new languages. And the face staring back at her from the mirror _was_ just that – the face of the good, proper daughter. Running a hand through her hair, she grimaced sourly as her fingers snagged in a few tangles.

Well, maybe not so _proper_. She looked like she'd been through a storm.

"Hey," Lucy said, rising from her bed to cross the room. Coming to stand beside her, she picked up a comb from the vanity. "Don't look so glum. Things will work themselves out, you'll see," she murmured as she began to comb through the errant locks, a wistful smile on her pretty face. "You're strong – you always have been, and your father would have been proud of you, if he was here."

Levy sighed, shoulders slumping. "Perhaps. I still feel like I want to _do_ something, though. I don't know what, just...I can't let him win. Not after everything he's done," she said, shaking her head.

Lucy frowned, tightening her grip on the comb. "I know."

Hissing as the teeth stuck in a tangle, Levy caught an apologetic murmur from her friend, before the tangle came loose. She inhaled deeply, a grumble on her tongue, "And it's not helping the situation that _he_ is so...so..."

Lucy smirked – she didn't need to be told who 'he' was. "Stubborn? Thick-headed?"

"Try 'ludicrously unreasonable'."

"Oh, but he'll come around, you'll see," Lucy said with a wink. "Maybe he just wants to keep you out of danger, because he's so taken with you?" she teased.

Levy snorted. "Yes, that's it, Lu. That is exactly the reason," she mocked with a roll of her eyes. "He's barely agreed to _tolerate_ me. He still thinks I'm a spoiled princess."

Lucy shrugged. "Well, you know what they say about that line between love and hate," she said.

"That it's like a crater?"

Lucy grinned, before her eyes softened, and a saddened smile settled on her lips. Levy blinked. "What's the matter, Lu?"

Her friend sighed, her hands stilling in their ministrations. "I'm sorry, Levy," she said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "For everything. I didn't know at first, what had happened with your father. I couldn't believe he'd just left you like that, but..." she shook her head. "What happened to the body?" she asked.

Levy averted her gaze to her stocking-clad feet. "Unmarked grave," she murmured. "Outside the city. I'll have it moved when...when I've made things right," she said, her brow set in a determined look as her hands clenched against the side of the chair.

Lucy hummed. "How many know the truth about what happened?"

She sighed. "You, Gajeel...Makarov, probably. He'll have told him by now. Jet and Droy, and...Alexei, of course."

Lucy frowned. "Jet and Droy? Your dad's errand boys?"

Levy nodded. "Who do you think helped me with the body?" she asked, hands moving to her lap where she splayed them flat against her skirt to keep them from shaking. "They swore to keep it a secret, and I trust them. They loved Daddy, and they would never do anything to hurt me."

Lucy's frown deepened. "Do you know where they are now?"

Levy shook her head, an almost sheepish smile tugging at her mouth. "I...left without saying anything. I needed to disappear for a while, without anyone knowing." She bit her lip. "I feel kind of bad about that, after everything they did for me."

"What you did was necessary. It's not an easy choice," her friend answered, and a frown tugged her brows down in the mirror. Levy's gaze softened.

"What about you? Have you heard anything from your father?"

Lucy snorted. "It's only been a few days, so no. And it's not like I'm expecting him to send out a search party or anything."

"Don't say that."

"What? It's the truth. He'll probably throw a fit once he realizes the engagement he's been planning isn't going to happen, but he'll find a way to work things out. Perhaps he'll adopt someone," she jested with a snort.

A smile tugged at Levy's lips. "Yes, I heard rumours about that." A grimace tugged at her expression. "I think I met him once. Wasn't he a little...strange-looking? And a bit of a brat?"

Lucy rolled her eyes. "That's putting it _lightly._ God, if I'd been forced into marrying him...I don't know what I'd done. Thrown myself in the river, maybe. Oh, wait," she said with a wry smirk.

Levy grinned, before a hiss tore itself from her lips, and she clenched an eye shut and bit down on her lip as another tangle came loose under the comb in her friend's hand. "So what are you planning on doing now?" she asked, voice strained under the pressure on her poor roots.

Lucy smirked. "I don't know yet. Marry someone way below his standards, maybe? Just to irk him?"

Levy grinned. "Got your eye on someone?"

"No."

"You sure? There's no one special that's caught your eye?"

"I'm _sure_."

Levy met her gaze in the mirror, eyes twinkling. "Not even a certain pink-haired bootlegger?"

Lucy snorted. "He's got the same level of perception as a rock – he wouldn't know interest if it slapped him in the kisser."

Levy felt a giggle bubble in her chest, before erupting into a peal of laughter, and for what felt like the first time in ages, she allowed herself the liberty. She hadn't felt like laughing since the scandal – with everything that had happened since her father's murder, the loss of the company and her eviction from high society, there had been few reasons to laugh and little joy to find in her new and undesired situation.

Since coming to Fairy Tail, though, and into Makarov's custody...she found there were reasons to smile. And laugh, and it felt _good_, despite everything. Wiping a tear from her eye, she met her friend's smiling face in the mirror.

"Sorry, Lu."

Lucy grinned. "For what? It's good to see you laugh. You've been so tense since you've arrived."

She snorted. "Well, it's not exactly been the cat's pyjamas so far, has it?" she said, and her thoughts once again found themselves drifting back to her primary object of both annoyance and interest.

He really was something else, Gajeel Redfox. She'd taken him for a simple street-thug, but there was obviously more to it than that. And even if she hated to admit it, he intrigued her. Like a novel in a language she didn't understand – he'd become a source of immense interest, and the more ardently she tried not to think about him, the more she found her thoughts drifting in just that direction. It was incredibly frustrating.

Especially when he was so intent on being an _ass_.

She hadn't asked the impossible. And it wasn't that she didn't recognize the risks. And he understood! To some degree, he understood where she was coming from – she'd seen it in his eyes, his stance – she'd even thought she'd been about to tip him over into her favour, but then he'd suddenly turned away and left her, like...like some jilted trophy cast off by her lover. And after bearing _everything..._

The comb snagged in her hair again, and Lucy apologized with a murmur, but Levy didn't flinch as she seethed in her chair, thoughts too far away to notice the pain. Her eyes flickered over to the luxurious dress hanging from her dresser, and her gaze softened some. In a way, it represented her new life – her new _home_ with Makarov and Fairy Tail. It was pretty and playful and everything she hadn't known she'd wanted in life.

And it was everything she couldn't have. Not until she'd avenged her father and cleared her family's name. She was the only remaining McGarden and woman or not – cast out heir or not – she would see justice handed to the man who'd taken everything from her. She might not have the means _physically,_ but she knew someone that did. And even if he didn't want to, she wasn't about to let him have his way so easily, and if he thought he could just order her around he had another thing coming. She'd said she wouldn't sit idle and wait for something to happen. But she would not resort to begging – she would find other means. She could be plenty persuasive if she put her mind to it.

"Lev? You okay? You're looking...odd."

Levy quirked a smile, meeting her friend's gaze in the mirror. "I was just thinking."

Lucy raised a brow. "Yes, I could see that. You looked a little scary. Kind of like my old governess – you remember her? She used to try to force me into longer frocks, and she'd have that horribly calculating look on her face." She grimaced.

Levy snorted. "Well, you _were_ quick to raise your hem when it became the fashion, Lu. And she was of the older generation, if I remember correctly. This was the one with the hawk-nose, right?"

Lucy grinned. "A sight to behold," she jested with a wink. Levy grinned, and breathed a sigh of relief when Lucy finally relented the comb, placing it down onto the top of the vanity-table. "All done. Well," she said, flicking one of the errant waves with a smirk. "As good as it gets, anyway. I could do better with some heated iron."

Levy smiled, running her fingers through her hair. "Thanks, Lu – it's better than it was when I woke up," she said with a wink.

Lucy grinned as she turned away from the vanity, headed towards her dresser. "You want to borrow a new dress today?"

Levy shook her head, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her short yellow frock. "It's alright, I'll use this one if you don't mind."

"You sure? I bet this one would look good on you," she said as she rifled through her extensive collection. "Here, I'll–"

A sudden pound on the door had them both jumping like rabbits, and Lucy placed a hand to her chest as it swung open to reveal none other than their former object of conversation. Looming in the doorway, Gajeel leaned against the frame, brow raised in a challenge as he took in the two of them. Levy could only gape.

Lucy, however, was quick on the uptake.

"Excuse me!" she all but shrieked. "Show a little decency, if you'd _please!_" she snapped. "What if we hadn't been dressed?"

Looking her over, Gajeel snorted. "That'd be your problem, then," he mocked, and Lucy was about to retort when Levy cut her off, stepping forward.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, more surprised than angry. It wasn't that she'd thought he'd ignore her or that they wouldn't speak again – he was still her bodyguard, and he was obliged to protect her as much as she was to let herself be protected. Their disagreement the night before was in theory just that – a disagreement. They still had to tolerate each other even if they had different opinions on what exactly he had to let her in on in regards to his job.

Still, she'd thought she would have to find him – not that he'd seek her out first.

The thought made her more giddy than it should.

Red eyes swept across her form, and she blushed despite herself, but he only grinned. "And here I thought you couldn't get any shorter," he quipped, gesturing to her stocking-clad feet. And he was right – without her heels he seemed to loom more over her than he'd used to. Levy huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, straightening her back.

"Is that all you came for?"

He rolled his eyes. "Can't take a jest," he grumbled, but motioned with his head to the hallway behind him. "Put some shoes on, we're going out," he said. She blinked.

"Huh?"

He rolled his eyes. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

She raised a challenging brow. "I wasn't aware I was taking order from you," she snapped. Gajeel snorted.

"You will if you wanna learn the trade," he said with a shrug, turning to walk out. "I'll leave in five – be downstairs or I'm goin' alone."

"Wha–"

He stopped, turning his head to look at her, one brow raised in a challenge. "You said you wanted to learn the trade," he repeated.

Levy blinked. He rolled his eyes. "Well, I ain't waiting forever, princess."

She shook her head, thoroughly confused, and she ran to catch up with him, completely forgetting to put on her shoes but not really caring. "Wha-what trade?" she asked as she grasped his elbow, feeling bold.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he turned, holding the door open as a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Whaddaya think?" he asked, red eyes gleaming devilishly.

"I'm teachin' ya how to shoot."

* * *

She should have known he was going to be trouble.

Really. Men like him were all about being unpredictable, weren't they? Perhaps it was a gimmick? Perhaps he was physically incapable of choosing one manner and then sticking to it?

All these thoughts circled through her mind as she tentatively followed her assigned protector through the winding back-streets away from the speakeasy and towards another unknown destination. Well, unknown to _her,_ at least – _he_ seemed to know exactly where he was going, as always, but then he probably knew the Alleys like the back of his hand. His form was a towering thing before her, his broad shoulders all but blocking her view of the road ahead, and though his shoulders were tense, they were so for a different reason than last time. Anticipation, she gathered. Maybe even a little bit excitement.

She was intrigued.

"So," she began as she picked up her pace, falling into step beside him. His own steps were worth two of hers, and she almost had to run to keep up, but he slowed down as he noticed her effort. "Where are we going to do...this?" she asked, tentatively, wondering if they were still going to do what he'd proposed earlier. From his refusal to let her help to suddenly offering to teach her how to hold a gun, she figured he could just as easily change his mind again.

He smirked. "You'll see."

She didn't say anything else as they continued walking, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she sneaked a glance up at him. He had his eyes trained firmly on the way ahead, gaze shifting to the sides, always alert and ready to spring at the first sign of trouble.

The dedication he had to his job, however undesired, was...fascinating. Especially considering their rocky start. He had no reason to do what he'd proposed. She wouldn't have told Makarov of her situation, let alone demand the old man to make Gajeel teach her, so she guessed he was doing it of his own, free will. She wondered briefly if it had been something she'd said, or something else.

Part of her hoped it was the former, and that she'd impressed him a little. The thought had her stomach a-flutter, and she blushed despite herself. Impressing him was _not_ important, not past him knowing that she was more than a spoiled brat, anyway. But that was _all_.

"We're here."

His voice stopped her suddenly, and she startled, only to realize they'd arrived at their destination. They were in a particularly run-down part of the Alleys now, in a far corner of a back-street and standing before a looming, rusted set of double doors. Levy blinked at the sight, and watched as Gajeel pushed them open – with some difficulty, despite his strength, as it looked to have almost rusted shut.

When he then held it open for her, she could only stare in surprise.

He rolled his eyes. "You just going to stand there? I ain't holding this damn thing forever," he snapped, and she startled, before moving past him and into the dark, a blush colouring her cheeks. She shook her head to clear it, before blinking to adjust her vision. The sound of the door slamming shut behind her reached her ears, followed by a rough hand on her shoulder, and then he was brushing past her, no doubt knowing where he was going from instinct rather than sight.

A twinge of panic hit her suddenly, and she lashed out with her hand, grappling for something to hold on to. There was no way she was getting lost in a dark building where she couldn't see a pace ahead of her – for all she knew there was a staircase somewhere or something else for her to trip over and severely hurt herself.

Her fingers closed around the strap of a pair of suspenders, and she gripped it tightly as she made to follow. There was a snort somewhere ahead of her, but he made no move to remove her hand. They walked in silence for a few moments in the complete dark, the only other sounds beside their breathing being their echoing footsteps – his heavy and hers light and erratic as she tried to keep up whilst still holding on to him.

Then there was the sound of another door opening – the creak of old, rusted hinges – and she almost tripped crossing the threshold, and Gajeel cursed as she yanked roughly on the strap in her hand, pulling him with her despite his weight.

"Oye! Watch yer step!"

Pulling herself to her feet with a little more force than necessary, yanking at the strap, she glared into the darkness. "A warning next time," she snapped. He snorted.

"Ain't my fault the threshold's too damn high fer yer midget legs," he muttered, and she rolled her eyes.

"Isn't there a source of light in this place?" she asked, tone dubious despite her remark. Her vision had not adjusted to the dark yet, and everywhere she looked there was only endless black. The musty smell of old basement and rust was heavy on the air, and she was finding it a little hard to breathe. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Old warehouse – the old man owns it. It ain't used for much these days though, but some of us use it for practice."

Levy pursed her lips. "With guns then?"

"Amongst other things." She could almost hear the smirk in his voice, and felt her intrigue spike, as though these strange people and their strange habits and hobbies wasn't already a major source of interest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity in the dark, they stepped out into a space where the air felt a good deal better, and she inhaled deeply through her nose. Fluorescent lights flickered around them, illuminating the room. Turning her gaze on Gajeel, who had one brow raised in silent amusement and mockery, Levy blinked, before realizing what he was looking at and quickly snatching her hand back from where it had been gripping the strap of his suspenders. He only smirked, and she glared.

"Well," she said, averting her eyes as she let them wander the room. There wasn't much to speak of, past the rust that was, and that strange smell she couldn't really identify, like in the Pit, except this place lacked the warmth the gym had. The lights cast an almost greenish tint to it, and it flickered slightly. On the far end of the room there were targets painted and re-painted sloppily in faded black colour, and bullet-holes decorated the wall in its entirety, some more off-course than others.

Inhaling deeply, she turned, arms crossed over her chest, squaring her shoulders in determination. "So, where do we begin?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "The basics of the basics, shrimp. I'll teach you to _hold_ a gun."

She raised a brow. "I won't get to shoot?"

He snorted. "Not before I'm sure you're not about to shoot yourself in the foot, or worse – me. Baby steps," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Which will be like normal steps for you."

She rolled her eyes. "Hilarious. But I was under the impression you were going to teach me to _shoot_."

He didn't say anything, but before she could open her mouth to ask again he reached into a pocket in his trousers, retrieving a gun, and her query died on her tongue as her eyes took in the weapon. A memory leaped out at her from deep within her mind, and nausea rose from the pit of her stomach, leaving her queasy.

"Ever held a gun before?" he asked.

She shook her head, eyeing the contraption. Intrigue and an almost eager anticipation simmered in her stomach, overriding the nausea, and surprising her. She'd never as much as fathomed she'd ever be put into a situation where she'd wish she knew how to hold a gun, let alone in one where she was actually going to be taught how to do it.

"Well, holding it is pretty basic stuff. First, there'll be none of this," he began, holding the gun very close to his chest.

"Recoil won't be pretty," he explained at her raised brow, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but didn't bother to tell him she wasn't a _complete_ idiot. He _was_ teaching her, and she wasn't about to irritate him so much that he decided he had better things to do.

"Like this," he said, righting his arms as he held the gun with one hand and supported it with the other. "Now, you've got your gun-hand and your support-hand," he continued, beckoning her over, to which she complied, eyeing the gun as she went.

"Here," he said, stepping around and behind her, and she startled at the sudden proximity. Reaching around with his arms, he held the weapon out to her. "Dominant hand?" he asked.

She blinked. "Oh. Right," she said, and could almost imagine him rolling his eyes. He had to think she wasn't paying attention, but she was, truly.

She'd just been caught unawares, that's all.

Raising her right hand, she swallowed when he placed the gun it it, closing his fingers around hers. She felt a hot blush crawl up her neck and colour her cheeks at the sound of his voice, a low rumble in her ears along with the thundering of the blood in her veins.

_Oh, applesauce. _

"You payin' attention, shrimp?"

The gruff snap sent an involuntary shiver up her spine, and she jumped slightly. Swallowing her yelp, she nodded, brusquely.

"Yeah. Dominant hand – and then?"

"You might want to support it with the other, havin' such skinny arms," he said, and before his words had a chance to register, he'd reached down to grab her left hand, lifting it up. His fingers were surprisingly warm, and the callouses caught against her skin as he placed her fingers against the weapon. And if she hadn't been so violently thrown off by his closeness and his touch, she would have caught the teasing insult.

But her mind was reeling, so she didn't. Not until she'd gathered her wits, that was, and by then he was already moving on to other things.

"There. Now, hold it out – away from yer face," he commanded, and she swallowed heavily, but complied, feeling suddenly very warm and finding it somewhat hard to breathe. Was was _up_ with her all of a sudden?

She inhaled deeply, fingers twitching slightly beneath his, and she bit down on her bottom lip as she felt them waver with the weight as he gradually released his hold. She tried not to dwell on the leap her heart seemed to do when his fingers brushed almost painfully slowly across hers as he removed his hands.

"You holdin' it steady?"

She could feel his voice reverberate at her back, and she could only nod as she attempted to divert all her attention to the weapon she was supposed to be learning how to hold, but his closeness was making it surprisingly difficult. She only hoped he wouldn't discover her embarrassing predicament, because then she'd _never_ hear the end of it.

"N-now what?" she asked, and tried to ignore how ridiculously husky her voice suddenly sounded. Straightening her shoulders, she attempted a picture of utmost nonchalance. She really couldn't allow him to affect her this way – who knew what would happen?

"Now you try holding it on yer own," came the remark, and then he released his grip, stepping away, and the lack of warmth startled her almost as much as the sudden weight in her hands, and she hissed as she strained her muscles to hold it up. She would _not_ fail this. Not this simple task – not after all she'd said and all her bravado the other night.

Her hands wavered slightly, but she bit down on her lip and steeled her gaze. The feeling was foreign in every sense of the aspect, and she pushed back the unpleasant memories that threatened to leap out at her from the dark recesses of her mind – the image of her father's startled face before a bullet had lodged itself in his–

Hissing as her arms gave out, she barely had time to yelp before he was there, catching the gun and her and pushing her back to her feet. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, and pulled away before he could question her, brushing her hands down her skirt to stop them from shaking.

"Sorry," she muttered, eyes averted away from his. He didn't say anything, only pocketed the gun, but she could feel his gaze on her.

"You okay, Shorty?" he asked then, and something in her stomach fluttered at the sound of his voice, and she cursed her heart – her silly, foolish heart, for the path it had chosen and she cursed herself for not having stopped it when she'd had the chance.

Infatuation was a difficult thing to rid oneself of, when it had first settled.

She nodded brusquely. "I'm fine," she said, but knew from her words he'd never believe her. But she didn't want to talk about it right now – she'd given so much when she'd told him of her father's murder, but she didn't know if she'd stand explaining in detail how the images just seemed to play out before her eyes whenever she was presented with something that reminded her of the night it had happened. Like the gun in her hands, or the name of his murderer.

She just couldn't find it in herself to talk about it. Not yet. But that didn't matter – he didn't look like the type to pry, anyways.

And he didn't. Nodding, he turned towards the exit. "Alright, first lesson over," he declared, to her surprise, but also to her relief. "Wouldn't want to go too fast on ya. And the old man said to have ya back before dark." He turned to walk out. She bit her lip.

"Gajeel."

He stopped, inclining his head to look at her. She met his gaze, unwavering, her hands clenching in front of her. She swallowed.

"Thank you," she said. "For taking the time to teach me. I know it's not...ideal, but...I really do appreciate it, and I'll endeavour to deserve your time," she said, trying not to make her voice waver. She wanted to make sure he knew that she wasn't ungrateful – that she was, in fact, extremely appreciative of him spending his hours teaching her, especially when the first thing she did was have a minor mental breakdown after barely having started.

He looked at her for a good long time – well, it felt like it, standing under his scrutiny as she was – before he snorted, shaking his head. "A simple thank you would've been enough, princess," he said with a smirk, muttering something about 'posh people' and 'ridiculous politeness' under his breath. She smiled.

"Well are ya comin' or not?" he called over his shoulder, and she picked up her pace to follow, the heels of her shoes clicking against the floor and echoing loudly throughout the room. Casting one look behind her as she passed the first doorway, Levy nodded to herself, a determined set to her shoulders.

She _would_ succeed. Even if it took her ten more attempts just to hold a gun without remembering. She'd decided that the moment she'd confronted the man before her with her situation with nothing but hope and desperation backing her. He was her one chance of avenging her family, and she would take whatever opportunity her time with him presented her and go with it. From what her entire life in her father's world had taught her, it was that she was nothing if not an opportunist.

"Well, looks like we're heading back early," Gajeel said, and she nodded softly, falling into step beside him as they began the trek back to Fairy Tail. Inhaling deeply through her nose, Levy made a mental note to have a lengthy chat with Lucy upon her return.

She feared she was getting in much deeper than she'd planned.

Risking a glance up at Gajeel, she bit her lip. He was infuriating at the best of times, and he threw insults around like confetti, but there was something about him that appealed to her. She'd admitted that to herself upon their meeting, but she hadn't anticipated actually..._feeling_ things, other than an odd sort of fascination. It was horribly disconcerting, to say the least, as they were much too different to even imagine the _thought _of them...together.

And yet...she couldn't quite seem to make herself _not_ imagine it now. And when he was proving to not be a completely inconsiderate ass who only put himself first, she was finding it hard to dislike him too much.

Oh, _horsefeathers_ – what was she getting herself into?

Shaking her head, she was so caught up in her own thoughts she didn't even notice that he'd stopped in his tracks before she walked right into his back. Startling at the contact, Levy blinked, before peeking out from behind him to see what had made him stop. Was there someone shadowing them again?

But Gajeel didn't look ready to spring into action. On the contrary, he looked...exasperated? Rubbing at his eyes like his patience was wearing thin, he released a heavy sigh that had her brows raising in confusion.

"What's wrong?" she asked, gaze shifting between him and whatever he was looking at. At her query, he only shook his head, motioning to the wall in front of them.

"If ya thought Fairy Tail wasn't already a freakshow," he muttered. Frowning, Levy followed his gesture, and found herself looking at a large, brightly coloured advertisement splayed across the brick wall in front of them. The colours were in red and blue hues, and it had the picture of a man and two pretty girls. Across the bottom, elegantly scribbled golden letters denounced a travelling magician arriving in Magnolia, and at the top of the poster even larger letters seemed to leap out at her. She blinked, cocking her head to the side as she read the inscription, wondering what had her companion so defeated.

"The...Amazing Siegrain?" she read out, thoroughly confused.

Gajeel only sighed.

* * *

AN: Of course Jellal had to make his appearance in this. And big thank-you to Jun'Hee Hyoma Hayagriva for the idea of making him a magician. And of course, we cannot forget his posse of two! Stay tuned for the update, now with magic!

**horsefeathers/applesauce**: expletives

**saturday night special**: slang for an inexpensive handgun


	8. spellbound

AN: You know you're writing an AU when you introduce performance magic to a cast of characters that are originally mages.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter VIII**

He just couldn't seem to catch a break.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Gajeel attempted to the best of his ability to tune out the madness around him. Like a wave of noise it had broken across the two of them as they'd entered through the back-door of the joint after their less than successful gun session earlier, and he wished they'd just stayed at the warehouse. At least it was quieter there, even if they weren't getting any work done. And even if she believed otherwise, he didn't hold that against her. It wasn't that he'd thought she'd turn out to be a natural or anything. He wasn't an idiot, or even remotely optimistic in general, and going by her last encounter with a gun it was hardly surprising that it'd left some sort of mental scar. But she had guts, despite everything – he was an idiot if he couldn't admit _that_ by now. Hell, he didn't know if another woman in her shoes would have willingly followed him of all people into a dark and abandoned warehouse for a few rounds with a pistol – even _he_ thought that sounded more than a little suspicious. But she'd stepped up to the challenge, and proven that her bravado hadn't just been that – bravado. Mental blocks he could work with – he'd gotten to show her the basics of the basics, and he doubted she'd forget it soon. She didn't seem like the type to.

An errant memory of her small form stiffening against him and her breath hitching in her throat at his sudden closeness had him inhaling sharply. If she'd thought her reactions had gone unnoticed, _she_ was an idiot, but he hadn't been about to call her out on it. Not when he'd been more than a little affected himself.

Letting his gaze shift to where she stood beside him, he felt a smirk tug at his lips at the sight of her wide eyes. He guessed that where for him it wasn't anything out of the ordinary – a nuisance more than anything else, really – for her it had to be something completely new and thus, interesting.

The speakeasy had been turned on its head, as per the usual when the trio made their appearance in town. The tables had been pushed back in preparation for the coming show that would no doubt be a surprise for the night's customers. The old geezer took too much joy in severely outclassing his competitors, and Gajeel knew that by the end of the night, there'd be renewed hushed whispers and rumours of Fairy Tail all around Magnolia – both in the inner city and in the Alleys. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if the rumours spread to the other cities – their reputation was already widely known.

And of course, seated at the bar with a smug grin on his face, Makarov couldn't be more pleased with himself.

But the centre of all attention – as he often was during his few and random appearances – was the source of the commotion himself, dressed in a ridiculously flamboyant cape and holding a large, golden staff – his signature attire. It made him look like a damn clown, but Gajeel wasn't the one pretending to saw people in two and make kittens disappear, so he hardly understood the fashion of the already freaky industry. Magic – he didn't get it, but it entertained people, so there was some use to it, he guessed.

"That's Jellal Fernandes," he said suddenly, and by her start, surprising her, and surprising _himself,_ even, for opening his mouth in the first place. Brown eyes blinked before meeting his, curiosity shining in their depths, and she had the same look on her face that she'd had when he'd told her he'd teach her how to shoot, and yeah, maybe he did take some sort of perverse pleasure in having that look directed at him. "Siegrain's just a stage name," he continued, as he for some reason couldn't stop himself. "His posse's Meredy – that's the tiny one who's not nearly as innocent as she looks, and the one that looks like she could rob you blind and leave a smile on yer face is Ultear."

She nodded, turning her eyes towards the spectacle at the other end of the establishment, where a large stage was being prepared for the three. "And they come here often?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Few times a year. They travel around, mostly."

"And what, they perform magic-tricks?"

He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Amongst other things."

A brow quirked at the implications, and he grinned. It had to irk her not to know everything, and he kind of enjoyed being the one sitting with the information. "They also smuggle for Makarov, and they're his ears outside the city," he explained after a pause.

She snorted. "So they're spies? Who bootleg?" Her eyes were focused on Elfman and Natsu across the room as they helped rig a humongous banner across the back of the stage under Cana's direction – meaning, her shouted orders as she sat at the bar with a glass at her elbow.

"Pretty much."

"Is the magician-thing just an act then? It seems pretty exaggerated if it is," she remarked.

He snorted. "Started as a ruse, but he enjoys it too damn much," he said, nodding towards the man in question, who was busy speaking with the redhead.

A smile tugged at the shrimp's lips. "He seems pretty fond of Erza," she mused, raising a suggestive brow, and Gajeel almost rolled his eyes. Either it was a woman thing, or the barkeep had gotten into her head, but if she thought he was going to gossip like some kind of repressed housewife she had another thing coming.

"Lily said you don't like to gossip, so don't worry," she said then, surprising him. "I don't expect you to say anything – I was just stating what I observed. He's been talking to her since we came in."

His brows furrowed, and he turned his gaze on her. "You've been talkin' to Lily?"

Her smile was much too innocent. "Well, he did offer me a dance yesterday after you left me like a dead fish in the lounge," she said, as-a-matter-of-factly with a shrug of her small shoulders, shooting him a sideways look. It seemed she'd gotten over that situation pretty well. Hell, she hadn't given him half the shit he'd expected her to, but then again, she'd gone and done a lot of things he hadn't expected. And yeah, maybe it irked him that she hadn't been as easy to figure out as he'd first claimed, but that went straight onto the list of things he sure wasn't going to tell her any time soon. Probably never, as she struck him as the kind to never let him live it down if he did.

So in stead he did something he was more comfortable with – he teased.

"Taken a likin' to him, have you?" he asked.

She raised a brow – a challenge if he'd ever seen one. "He is nice. And well-mannered, and a good conversational partner. So yes, I have taken a liking to him," she said, with a shrug. "But not in the way you're suggesting, by the leer on your face."

"What leer?" he snorted.

She shot him a look, before turning her eyes back to the commotion in front of them. Part of the banner, bearing the slogan 'THE AMAZING SIEGRAIN' in bold letters – as if the ridiculous poster hadn't been enough – had fallen down, and by the hollering Cana was doing, someone had probably made a tear in it. Probably Natsu. Tch, idiot.

Shortstuff snorted, and it was damn unladylike, but part of him liked it, and the other part of him resented himself for that. "Not that it's any of _your_ business, anyway," she muttered under her breath.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "What? Plannin' on leavin' me for someone else?" he mocked.

She stuck her hip out. It was mildly distracting. "Would you stop me if I did? I'd finally get out of your hair," she said, and it almost felt like she was testing the waters, although for _what_ he had no idea.

He glared, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's my job – I do it whether I like it or not," was all he said in stead, and her eyes met his, and she held his gaze unwaveringly for several long moments. He glared back, daring her – to _what,_ he didn't know, but it felt like a silent stand-off of some sort. Finally, she turned her eyes away, and damn him if he didn't see a hit of regret there, but what the hell she was thinking about was beyond him.

And it bothered him more than it damn well should.

"Yeah, you said that," she murmured under her breath, and he frowned, and was about to comment on it when she spoke again. "So does Lily have a family?" she asked, out of the blue, and he felt...something, clench tightly deep in his stomach.

"What's it to you?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm just curious. I forgot to ask him yesterday, and he is _your_ friend, so you should know."

Gajeel snorted. "For not bein' interested in 'the way I suggested' you sure as hell talk a lot about him."

"I wasn't aware I was not allowed to inquire about the people who frequent this place," she shot back.

"Don't hear you _inquirin_' about anyone else," he remarked, all the while wondering what the _hell_ was up with him and the sour mood that had come over him. It couldn't be just the magician idiot and his annoying entourage, it felt...different than that kind of annoyance. Almost–

He stopped his train of thought. _Hell no. _He was _not_ going there.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous," she said then, and he wanted to make her forcibly swallow the words. "But knowing you, that's just ridiculous. What, afraid Lily will make me his new confidante?" she mocked, turning the tables on him.

"I don't know," he snapped back, his glare fierce, "Wouldn't mind that, would ya?"

She threw her hands up. "What is _up_ with you all of a sudden?" she asked. "Finally we're getting along and now you're acting like an ass again – did I say something? Is it about Lil–"

He stopped her with a glare, daring her to continue, but in stead of shrinking back she squared her shoulders, lifting herself to her full unimpressive height as he towered above her. "Don't get full of yerself, shortstuff," he said, voice a low rumble as it rolled off his tongue, as though pulled from a dark place. "Yer not the centre of everythin' here. Better get off yer high horse and get used to it."

Her eyes widened at that, anger flashing in them, and he knew the insult had hit it's mark, but he found no pleasure in it like he had when first meeting her. In stead there was a sour feeling in his stomach, but he pushed it down brutally, ignoring the implications it brought with it.

Inhaling deeply, she clenched her tiny hands into fists at her sides, before raising her chin and turning on her heel. "When you're ready to apologise, I'll be waiting," she said over her shoulder stiffly as she walked away and towards the crowd at the other end of the room, striding forward like she owned the damn place. Gajeel watched her go, anger simmering in every muscle as he clenched his hands, wanting very much to pummel something and feeling like going to the gym, but then maybe not, because Lily was probably there and for some reason he felt like pummelling him, too.

But he wasn't jealous.

There was just_ no way_ – not at Lily, his closest friend and partner, and _not_ because of a pipsqueak of a woman like Levy McGarden. He had no appetite for and no patience with women like that – posh little things. They were from two completely different worlds – his the dark gutters of the Alleys, hers the gilded banisters of the mansions of the city's finer outskirts. They had nothing in common save an inclination for being stubborn, and so what if he found her attractive?

No, Gajeel Redfox did jealously as much as he did sympathy – meaning he just _didn't_. He didn't want her, and other than his job, he didn't need her for anything else than ensure his next paycheck. He just had a lot of pent up frustration from everything that was going on and from juggling two jobs that had both entailed more than the description had specified. He was just letting it get to him, that was all. He sure as hell wasn't _jealous_.

Was he?

"What's got that dark look on your face, my boy?"

The voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at his boss who had come over without him noticing. He had a way of doing that, and it was equal parts annoying as it was damn disconcerting, especially considering Gajeel's own training. But old geezer or not, Makarov wasn't to be underestimated, and Gajeel knew that better than most.

"Ate somethin' that disagreed with me," he remarked gruffly. Makarov snorted.

"You've always been a horrible liar."

"_You_ always meddle too much."

Makarov grinned. "It's a father's duty to meddle in the lives of his children."

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "Still goin' on about that?"

Makarov shrugged, turning his eyes on the full establishment. No customers yet – they wouldn't arrive until eight. The ones present were Makarov's own children, young and old, the only one actually connected by blood being the blonde man sitting at a table in the corner with his faithful posse. "I will continue to do so until you come to terms with it," he said simply.

"And if I don't?"

Makarov smiled, and it was the same smile he had when he knew something other's didn't. "You will."

Gajeel snorted. "You're always so sure about that."

He grinned. "I have faith in my children," he said with a wink. "Especially my sons, however reluctant they are to be called that," he added, giving him a pointed look.

Gajeel said nothing to that, but didn't look at his boss/adoptive father. He still had issues with the latter term, and there were a whole lot of reasons for that, his own estranged father being a big part of it, but also the circumstances in which he'd come to be adopted in the first place.

His Pops had left him when he'd been just a brat – left him to handle the Alleys on his own with nothing to his name but an old rusty gun, and he wasn't even sure his old man had intended to leave that or if he'd just forgotten it and not bothered to come back for it. Nevertheless, he carried it with him most of the time – Lily called him sentimental, but it was more than that. He couldn't really explain it, but it was a feeling of loyalty, especially after Makarov had found him. Not that his Pops deserved it, but it felt important not to forget who his real father was, no matter how much Makarov had done and still did for him. And of course, that whole situation was complicated enough in its own right without Gajeel having to mix his real parentage into it.

It had started when he'd run with Jose and the Phantoms along with Juvia. He'd been sent to take care of a couple of local 'nuisances' – two of Makarov's brats. Jose had always had an issue with the old man, and with the success of his speakeasy as well as his legal business – and the fact that he ruled pretty much both the inner city and the Alleys – had been too much for the crazy idiot. 'Course, anyone who knew Makarov for what he was would stay clear of touching any of his children, but with a turf-war having broken out with a competing gang, Jose had been pretty damn desperate. And so Gajeel had been sent to do his dirty work, and being an idiot himself at the time, he'd thought he could just get his boss off his back by going after the Big Cheese himself.

Which had turned out to be the stupidest damn thing he'd ever done.

Makarov had gone easy on him, though – and the fact that he'd been near comatose as a result was still embarrassing as _hell, _but if the old man hadn't been the compassionate geezer he was, Gajeel would have been long dead for his impudence and recklessness. Long story short, he'd tried to assassinate him, and gotten his ass handed to him as a result. The old man had then dropped him on Juvia's doorstep, a bloodied mess, along with a lecture of what was important in life and the effects of running with the wrong people and yadda yadda, and somewhere during his speech Juvia had realized she wanted a new boss, and two days later she'd turned up and said she'd gotten them both new jobs and a new home. Safe to say, Jose hadn't been too happy, but a general rule in the Alleys was that if you had a problem with Makarov, you took it up with the man himself.

And if you knew what was good for you, you just didn't.

And so he'd found himself going from a world of lurking in the shadows, the personal hired gun of one of the largest crime lords in Magnolia's underworld, to smuggling booze for a speakeasy that took the term 'eccentricity' to a whole other level. But headaches or not – flaming _idiots_ or not – he couldn't make himself regret it.

"Glaring will not make it go away, you know. I'd try talking to her if I were you."

He sighed. Alright, sometimes he regretted it a _little_.

"There ain't nothing to talk about, old man."

Makarov snorted. "I'm not blind, boy, and not _deaf_, either. I've heard the rumours."

Gajeel sighed, feeling a headache coming on. "What _rumours_?" he snapped. He'd pummel Lily to the bloody ground if he'd been flapping his gums.

Makarov smirked, shooting him a sideways look. "That you're a bit taken by your charge," he said with a shrug. "Not that it's much of a surprise. She is quite lovely."

Gajeel rubbed at his eyes. "Old man–"

"Do not toy with her, Gajeel," Makarov interrupted him, all humour suddenly gone from his expression, which had turned completely serious. Gajeel snorted.

"I said I'd keep her _safe_ – that's all I bloody signed up for, and that's what I'm doin'," he grumbled, irritated at the damn liberty the old man was taking.

Makarov nodded, eyes trained on the crowd before them. "See that you do," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "She has a trusting heart, and I would hate to see it wasted where it is not wanted," he added, giving him a weighing look, as though looking for something to either confirm or refute his remark. Gajeel schooled his features into an unreadable look, arms crossed over his chest in defiance as he turned a glare on the older man.

"I'm doin' my _job_," he repeated, putting heavy emphasis on the phrase as he turned away. He needed a sharp drink. And a smoke.

"I don't believe the job description said anything about letting your jealousy get the better of you," Makarov called after him, voice a low rumble for Gajeel's ears only, and he stiffened as the words hit him like a punch to the gut, but he didn't turn around, only walked on towards the bar. He wasn't about to be lectured like an errant brat. He was more than old enough to known the consequences of his actions, and damn it all, his business was his bloody own!

"Heed my words, my boy," Makarov said at last, the warning ringing clear through the chatter and noise around them, like a knife cutting through butter.

Gajeel didn't turn around, but kept on walking towards the bar, shouting for a drink even as he approached. The barkeep eyed him, then the old man across the room, but complied without a word – but the look she shot him was nothing short of lecturing. No doubt she had every idea of what the boss had gone to speak to him about, but he wasn't about to hear it repeated from her, too. Accepting his drink, he turned around, eager to find a dark table and enjoy his alcohol in solitude, when he found himself facing a familiar grin that had him rolling his eyes.

"Gajeel!" Jellal greeted – too amiably, in Gajeel's opinion. They'd known each other a long time, and so the idiot always insisted on pleasantries. "How are you these days?"

He grunted. "Getting worse, it would seem," he muttered.

Jellal smirked. "Cynical as always."

He snorted. "Someone's gotta be – life's not magic tricks for all of us."

He winced in mock-hurt. "That stings, really. And you haven't even seen my new act," he said, and despite himself, Gajeel felt it was hard to despise the guy_ too much_. Then again, it had never been the actual man he detested – it was the damn circus they made of the speakeasy every time he visited. It was like one enormous, never-ending headache. But he had no problem with Jellal himself – not really. And Lily liked the guy, having all but pulled him off the streets and raised him when he'd been a kid, abandoned by his father like Gajeel. He'd also been of the first Gajeel had met on his first time in the Pit, although he'd never been one for the ring himself. 'Course, that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. Gajeel knew for a fact that the guy wasn't to be taken lightly in a fight, and out of Makarov's brats, he did have the biggest reputation. There had also always been an air of mystery around him – bull, if Gajeel was any judge. He probably just kept it up for the sake of his image as a magician, the flamboyant idiot.

"Lily said you were thinking of picking up the gloves again," Jellal said then. "Any fights scheduled while we're here? It's been a while since I've been to one."

Gajeel snorted. "Few rounds in the ring with Lil won't get me a fight – not yet at least," he said. Jellal nodded.

"You'd need a new promoter, wouldn't you? What happened to the last one?"

He shrugged. "Got in with the wrong crowd," he said. "Didn't hear back from 'im."

Jellal shook his head. "Happens all too often around here," he mused, before a smile stretched across his face. "I hear Lily is holding up well, though – several of his boxers have been scheduled for fights. Did you hear?"

He hadn't, but good for Lily – even if he was too damn cheeky for his own good sometimes. He shook his head, and Jellal shrugged. "Hopefully it's a sign that better times are coming. I hear there are things brewing with the boss' son."

Gajeel snorted, taking a sip from his drink. "There's always some shit brewing with him, but yeah, old man's got it up to his ears these days."

"Sounds like trouble," a voice purred next to his ear, and he turned a lazy eye on Ultear as she sidled up to them. "Long time no see, Gajeel Redfox."

He raised a brow, and she rolled her eyes. "Still not trusting me, huh? It's been nearly five years, you know."

He did know, but that didn't mean he'd trust her even if his life depended on it. During his days with Jose, Ultear had been one of the most dangerous assassins of his old boss' rival gang, Grimoire Heart. A turf war had broken out sometime right before Gajeel had left for Makarov and Fairy Tail, and it had been nothing short of a bloodbath. And the woman standing before him had been smack right in the centre of it all. And even if he'd turned over his own leaf, he was a suspicious bastard on the best of days, and wasn't about to let his guard down around a woman who knew the shadows better than even Juvia did. It was bad business.

He shot Jellal a look, but didn't say anything, and she crossed her arms over her chest, shooting a look towards something behind him. "So who was the pretty thing you walked in with, hmm? Haven't seen her around before. She new?"

He glared. "My new _job,"_ he growled, and a cat-like, calculating smile stretched across her face.

"Only that? Because I heard some _fascinating_ rumours from Mira just now," she purred. Gajeel's eye twitched. Jellal looked between the two of them uneasily, shooting him a questioning look. "So why don't you enlighten me further?" she asked.

Gajeel downed his drink. "Keep a leash on your accessory," he growled at Jellal as he thrust his empty glass towards him, ignoring Ultear completely, before pushing past them, eager for a smoke and to get as far away from the knowing smile behind him as he could. His hands itched to hit something, and he wished for the ring and the release it brought. He hadn't felt this tense since his days with the Phantoms, and that was saying something.

Her voice was teasing as it called after him, "Someone's a little tense. Mira was right – you could use a woman in your life!" she laughed.

Gajeel pushed on through the crowd of people – actually physically pushing one idiot out of the way as he headed for the storage room at the back where he knew he would be able to smoke in peace. Why everyone was either intent on setting him up with the girl or warding him off was beyond him – people could keep to their own damn beeswax. He had his own, and it was complicated enough as it was without adding a damn romantic drama to it all.

Shutting the door behind him, he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it swiftly as he leaned against the wall, thankful for the muffled sounds and the solitude the little room offered. He often slipped inside during parties when the general mood of the speakeasy became too much, or when the old man was looking for him and he just needed a bloody break. It was as good as any a hiding place, and if he got to enjoy his smoke in peace for just a few minutes, that was good enough for him.

And as he stood there, shrouded in cigarette smoke, he found himself contemplating how he had gotten himself into the mess he was in. It seemed unbelievable that it was only a few days since he'd been ushered into the old man's office for his new job, but it was, and it was also the time when his life as he'd known it had ended and he'd been thrust into a situation that he didn't quite know how to handle. He didn't like being proved wrong, and _she_ did that more than he cared to admit or cared to think about, and it was irking him that she'd somehow gotten under his skin without his notice or his permission. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gajeel tried to push his mind towards other things, other thoughts. Boxing, the ring, Ivan and all _that_ bloody circus entailed, the next shipment of booze and if it had any good scotch..._anything_.

But all that he kept coming back to was a head of bright, bright blue hair and a pair of large brown eyes.

_Damn it all._

* * *

He wasn't jealous.

Glaring at nothing in particular, Gajeel downed the remains of his third – fourth? – drink, feeling the liquid run down his throat but finding little pleasure in it. His fingers clenched around the glass in his hand. Beside him, Juvia leaned against the bar, a cigarette holder at her lips as she shamelessly stared at the Fullbuster-idiot sitting across the room, busy watching the show along with everyone else. The joint was packed to the brim – rumours had escaped about the night's planned event, and even more people than usual had showed up for the festivities. The tables had been pushed far back to make room for the stage, which loomed large beside the bar, draped in red and decorated with the ridiculously oversized banner. And below the banner, the magician himself was busy doing his tricks, his faithful assistants at his side, and by the sheer eagerness of the crowd, it was nothing short of a success.

Gajeel was nursing a pounding headache, and contemplating ordering his fifth glass.

"Is Gajeel okay?"

Deep blue eyes had momentarily left their desired scenery to regard him with a worried look. He snorted.

"Peachy keen," he ground out, brows furrowed in a glare. Following his gaze, Juvia's eyes softened.

"Juvia knows how Gajeel feels," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "Mr. Fullbuster is quite popular with the ladies," she offered as way of explanation, brows furrowing in a glare of her own.

"I ain't _jealous," _he grumbled.

She said nothing to that, and that made him angrier somehow. He inhaled deeply, placing his glass on the counter and shouting for another before stuffing his hands deep in his pockets. He wasn't jealous. It didn't bother him that she was speaking to Lily – shortstuff could speak to whomever she damn well pleased, it was none of his business. Not that he cared, either. Tch.

"Juvia thinks Gajeel should go over there if he wants to. Lily wouldn't mind."

He shot her a look, and she smiled in that damn knowing way of hers. "Juvia thinks Miss Levy likes Gajeel," she said with a shrug. Gajeel didn't say anything to that, but let his eyes wander back to the girl in question. She'd dolled herself up again, in a dark grey dress that was even shorter than the last one and decorated with an excessive amount of pearls that swayed distractingly when she moved. Not that he'd noticed or anything, tch. Her hair was like a damn signpost in the crowd where she sat at the table in the far back with Lily, talking and laughing like old friends. His brows furrowed further, and he grabbed his new drink when it was offered, taking a large mouthful and enjoying the buzz it left in it's wake. Juvia frowned.

"Juvia thinks Gajeel should take it slow," she said, eyeing his drink. He snorted.

"Woman, I can damn well hold my hooch," he snapped, and she raised a brow at his tone. He sighed, grumbling, "Sorry."

She shook her head, taking a drag from her cigarette. "It's alright. As Juvia said, she knows how Gajeel feels."

"I ain't _feelin'_ anythin'."

She only shook her head, and the knowing smile on her face had him downing his drink.

The crowd broke out into a round of cheering as the trio finished their number, before beginning on a new one – this one requiring a lot of excessive flourishing and the installation of a few stage props. Gajeel only paid a half mind to what went on, as his eyes kept drifting to the back of the room and the blue head of hair. And as though feeling his gaze on her, she turned her head, and her eyes met his for a brief moment before she looked away, resting her chin on her hand as she smiled at something Lily said. Something dark unfurled behind his ribs.

So she was ignoring him, was she? He'd see about that.

Setting his empty glass down at the counter with more force than necessary, he strode away, leaving Juvia staring after him as he cut through the tables and seated customers towards the back, eyes never leaving the bright blue flicker of colour that kept drawing him towards it like a flame. His head swam a bit from the alcohol, and in a saner state of being he might have reconsidered his course of action, but he was a little too angry and a little too inebriated to give a fuck.

As he approached their table, Lily caught his gaze, and his brows shot into his hairline at whatever he saw on his face. "Oye," Gajeel greeted as he stopped beside them, throwing a shadow across the table and the small form sitting before him. Levy looked up, a brow raised, but said nothing.

A moment of silence followed where none of them said a word, before Lily cleared his throat. "Well, I'll got get another drink," he declared, rising to his feet and throwing Gajeel a questioning look as he passed, but Gajeel wasn't looking at him. When he was out of earshot, Levy rounded on him in her seat, brown eyes flashing.

"What is your _problem_?" she snapped, voice low to avoid the attention of those around them. He snorted.

"Should be askin' you that - you're the one actin' like I've got somethin' to apologize for."

She huffed. "You do have something to apologize for! Treating me like a spoiled brat when you know that's not who I am!" she hissed.

He raised a brow, and the words rolled off his tongue before they'd even reached his mental filter. "Whose to say I know anythin' about you?" he asked, placing the palm of his hand on the table and putting his weight on it as he leaned closer. By her nose scrunching up, he guessed she could smell the alcohol, but the thought was errant and gone as soon as it'd registered. Despite her obvious discomfort at his presence, her gaze held his, unflinching and honest.

"I told you _everything_," she said, voice low and words fervent. They had to be attracting a few stares, but he couldn't think clearly past the anger and the booze. Leaning even closer, to the point where she pulled away a bit, he snarled,

"Yeah? Well for all I bloody know, you invented everythin' for sympathy, Shorty."

He saw the slap coming even before he'd completed his sentence, but made no move to avoid it. It rang like a bell, cutting through the noise and the chatter, and a few surprised murmurs erupted around them at the scene. All the while she'd never taken her eyes off him, and as he turned his head he saw tears in them.

Then she pushed away from the table, her chair scraping loudly across the hardwood floor, before she turned on her heel and stormed off for the back door, leaving him in her wake. Around him the show went on, and only a few of the nearby audience were still looking at him – the others having turned their attention back to the stage when it was clear there wasn't going to be more of a spectacle.

But Gajeel was far from finished.

Pushing the chair out of the way, he stalked after her, anger fuelling him as well as the alcohol in his system. The rusted back-door swung open under his strength as he pushed it, the hinges shrieking at the unexpected force, and then he was outside. The night was cold, and it crashed against him as he stepped out and into the alleyway. It cut through his shirt and to the marrow of his bones, but he barely noticed.

"Oye, midget!"

"Leave me alone!"

She hadn't gotten far, as he'd expected, and spun around at his appearance, brows furrowed and stance defiant. Like a small fox cornered by a wolf, she kept her distance but didn't back down. She had no jacket on, he noted briefly, and she had seemingly left her shoes inside, because she was clad only in stockings and shivering like a leaf on the cold cobblestones, damp from a late shower of rain. He might have scoffed at her and told her to put her damn shoes on before she caught the flu and kicked the bucket, but anger was still simmering in his stomach like stubborn embers in a never-dying fire, and he wasn't thinking clearly. Stepping closer, he noted with a hint of perverse satisfaction that she backed away quickly, fear flashing in her eyes.

"Gajeel, I'm serious–"

"What?" he asked, cutting her off as he stepped closer still, and she backed away until her back was against the wall behind her. The fox was trapped with no way to escape.

Her eyes held his, but the tears hadn't fallen, and she was keeping her shoulders straight and her head up stubbornly, no doubt trying to look brave, but he could tell his attitude was putting her off. And even knowing this, he couldn't seem to stop – couldn't seem to muster the sense to just back the hell away before he did something he'd regret in the morning. Stepping so close that there was barely any space between them – almost as close as he'd been when he'd tried teaching her to hold a gun in the warehouse – he leaned down so his face was close to hers. "You're serious, Shorty?" he asked, voice a low rumble in his throat. "About what? About avenging yer old man? What else?"

She glared. "I'm not tolerating this," she snapped. "Don't patronize me! If you have a problem, tell me what it is in stead of mocking me!"

He didn't say anything, and she drove on, gaining confidence when he wasn't pushing relentlessly. _"Is_ it about Lily?" she asked. "Because–"

"It ain't fuckin' about him!"

"_Then what is it?!"_

His hand was on her throat before the words had completely left her tongue, fingers slipping up the back of her neck to where her hair curled, and her breath hitched loudly in her throat as she read his intentions, but she made no move to push him away. Her wide eyes held his, surprise and just a sliver of fear in them – enough to have his blood thrumming in his veins, and he could feel it thundering in his ears as he leaned in. And suddenly, he knew exactly what his problem was – knew why he was so damn angry and why he felt like tearing off any available limb on whatever idiot found it prudent to capture her attention.

"Gajeel..."

Her breathing had turned almost laboured, and there was an air of anticipation around her that almost had him smirking. She didn't say anything else, but her eyes continued to hold his, and her tongue flicked out to lick her lower lip almost nervously as she pressed herself further into the wall behind her. Her small form felt like it had during their brief time in the warehouse – pliant, shivering, like it could be undone with just the right touches in the right places, and he felt a surge of anticipation and raw lust from deep within his stomach at the thought. Goosebumps had risen on her exposed skin, and her chest heaved, making the beads on her dress clink softly, and the fingers of his free hand flexed as he brought it up to the other side of her face. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and the smell of alcohol was a heady thing between them, fuelling him further. Leaning in until his nose almost touched hers, he felt her intake of breath more than heard it, and–

The clatter of something a little ways off and the surprised yell that followed had him pulling back sharply, dead sober and on full alert in an instant, the hand cradling the back of her head ready to reach for his knife.

"S-sorry! We didn't–I didn't– Sorry for intruding! We didn't see anything, really! W-we'll just go past quickly and you-you can continue what you were doing!" a man's voice called from somewhere further down the alley, and at the shout, the woman in his grip gasped, her previously hooded eyes flying wide open in surprise and recognition. Gajeel was about to ask what the hell they were creeping around for when they came into the open, the light from the upper-story window cast out across the cobblestones revealing the sheepish and embarrassed faces of two young men – one lanky and one large and pudgy, both oddly dressed.

Upon seeing them up close, however, the sheepish grins vanished, replaced by abject surprise and equal horror, and they gaped at the small woman caught in his arms, partly hidden by his much larger form but no doubt easily recognized by her hair – a vibrant burst of colour in the otherwise dingy alleyway.

…

"_Levy?!"_

* * *

AN: I love messing with these guys, almost as much as Mashima does, the troll. And of course they had to make an appearance – you can't have Fairy Tail without Shadow Gear.


	9. hardest of hearts

AN: Jealous Gajeel and the Cock-block Brothers would be a good name for a band, no? Levy could be on tambourine or something.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter IX**

Their timing could really not have been any _worse_.

"_Levy?!"_

It was just her luck too, wasn't it? To be caught pressed up against a wall in a dark and dingy alleyway, about to be seduced right out of her non-existent socks by a more-or-less drunk bootlegger, or spy or hired gun or whatever profession was fitting to describe a man like Gajeel Redfox. And not only _that_ – she'd been caught by the two people she'd hoped would never as much as see her making eyes at a man. And _any_ man for that matter, certainly not the aforementioned bootlegger!

Mortified, Levy tried her best to shrink back into the shadows, hoping that she could by sheer force of will make the wall behind her swallow her up, or that perhaps she could vanish behind the tall man still standing so outrageously close. His fingers were still tangled in her hair, and her heart was hammering a mile a minute as if it wanted to forcibly break out of her chest. She could still smell the alcohol that had no doubt been the driving force behind his actions, but he seemed as alert as he'd been on their walk back from the Pit that time, and by his tense shoulders and the angry frown marring his features he was none too happy at their interruption.

A hot blush crept up her neck as she came to the horrifying realization that if she were to be completely honest with herself, she, too, was none the pleased, and she tried a feeble attempt at straightening her dress where it had ridden up her thighs. The horrified disbelief on the faces of her old friends had her feeling like the face of indecency, and she fretted under their scrutiny – she might as well have been smack naked for the way they were looking at her.

"Levy, wha– Hey, get your filthy hands off her!" Ever the impulsive, Jet seemed to snap out of it first. From the corner of her eye, Levy caught Gajeel giving him a swift once over before he snorted, but his hand slipped from where it had been cradling the back of her head to rest against the side of his hip, no doubt a precaution in case things got ugly.

"Or what? You here to defend her honour or somethin'?" he asked, his entire stance reeking of insolent mockery, and she caught the infuriated look on Jet's face. "The hell are these clowns anyway, Shorty?"

It took her a second to realize the question had been directed at her, she was so caught up in her own embarrassment. "Oh. Oh! Um, this is...Jet is...well, they used to work for my father. Jet and Droy," she said, her words stumbling over each other, and she shook her head to clear it. The entire situation felt surreal, and she had a hard time keeping up with what was happening.

"What are you doing _here_?" she asked.

Jet still looked outraged, and Gajeel still hadn't moved an inch – his defiance a clear statement of what he thought of the situation, and it only succeeded in angering the lanky man even further. "I could ask you the same thing, Levy. What in the blazes are_ you_ doing?!"

She flinched at his harsh tone, and was about to reply when the man beside her beat her to it, his voice a dark rumble in the quiet night. "The hell do you think you're doin' talkin' to her like that? 'S far as I know, she ain't your woman." At this he shot her a sideways look, as though asking her if she actually _was_, and she blinked, still gaping.

"What? No! No, he's a _friend_ – I told you, he used to work for my father," she stuttered out, before turning her gaze back on Jet, who looked ready to pounce on Gajeel. "Jet, _please_ – this is Gajeel – he's...he's my...new bodyguard," she finished, sensing how ridiculous the words sounded even as they left her lips, and feeling very much like beating her head against the wall. It was the _truth_, yes, but with they way the two had come upon them...

As predicted, Jet snorted. "Bodyguard? That wasn't what it looked like from where I was standing," he retorted, his tone derisive as he glared darkly at Gajeel.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he stepped forward, and she blinked as he moved, almost as though to shield her. "And who said you had any business seeing anythin'?" he remarked, and Levy almost thought Jet was going to lose the last of his restraint. Panic rose like bile in her throat, pushing her to act before something went wrong.

Placing a hand on Gajeel's elbow, she pushed herself forward and into Jet's line of sight. "Gajeel," she said, giving him a warning look, before her eyes met her friend's. Droy had come forward as well, and was regarding the situation with raised brows. She sent him an apologetic smile, which he returned hesitantly, although he kept looking back to his companion, as though ready to step in should the situation take a turn for the worst.

Good. At least she had _that. _

Turning her eyes back on Jet, she addressed him cautiously, choosing her words carefully. "I'm going to ask you again – what are you doing here?"

At first it didn't seem like he'd heard her. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and even if there were several paces between the two men, his intent was crystal clear. But Gajeel towered above them all like a shadow, and despite his bravado, Jet's attempted intimidation had little effect on his adversary. The silent stand-off lasted an agonizingly long moment, and Levy was about to repeat her question when he finally spoke, although his narrowed eyes never left Gajeel.

"When you left, we went looking for you," he explained, confirming her suspicions. "We thought you might have contacted Makarov, so we did some snooping, and found out about this place. We were going to ask where you were – we didn't know we'd find you like _this_." The disgust dripping from his tone had her brows furrowing, but before she could speak Gajeel beat her to it again.

"You got a problem with that?" he snarled.

"Gajeel–"

Jet glared. "As a matter of fact, I do have a problem with that. I have a problem with _you_ taking advantage–"

"Excuse me!" Levy snapped, cutting him off. "Did I look like I was being taken advantage of?"

Jet blinked, and then he looked even angrier. "So what – you _wanted_ him to...to.."

She flushed, but kept her shoulders straight. Swallowing heavily, she ignored the smirk she knew was on Gajeel's face. "Well, it wasn't...entirely...unwanted," she said, lamely, and almost slapped herself for sounding like a child awaiting a scolding. Where was her usual eloquence? And where was her strength when she needed it? She was a grown woman, for cripe's sake! Capable of making her own decisions, and if one of those decisions was to let herself be ravished against the wall of an alleyway by a more or less morally challenged man from the darker side of society, then so be it!

...that was what she _should_ have said, of course, but how could she, when Jet was looking at her like he didn't even recognize her anymore?

Gajeel's grin was decidedly wicked. "See? Can't fault her for preferrin' a _real_–"

"You shut your mouth!" Jet snarled, and before Levy could get her wits about her, he shot forward, fists raised. The intended punch was blocked without much effort – unsurprisingly, knowing the man's history in the ring – and he gave Jet a shove, sending him sprawling across the cobblestones and into the pile of crates stacked against the wall opposite. The noise echoed throughout the street, and Levy flinched at the hiss of pain that followed as Jet pulled himself out of the pile of broken wood.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets – a clear statement of what he thought of Jet in terms of an opponent, and an insult of Levy had ever seen one – Gajeel snorted. "You're quick, I'll give ya that, but you're a bit below my weight class," he remarked, his smile mocking. Jet pushed himself back up, already on his way in for another attack, when Levy couldn't take it any more. Stepping forward, she placed herself between the two men, arms crossed over her chest and eyes flashing. There was a hand on her shoulder within a second after she'd moved, ready to shove her out of the way if Jet didn't stop, but her voice brooked no argument as it bounced off the walls of the alley.

"_Stop it!" _

Jet staggered as he caught himself, but the hand on her shoulder didn't release it's grip. Shrugging out of it, she turned so she could look at the two of them. "This is ridiculous, Jet! And Gajeel, stop taunting him!"

"But–"

"No! Let me speak," she cut him off. "You've found me, which was your intention, now what do you _want?_ I thought I made it clear that I needed to disappear_, _and–_"_

"With _our_ _help_, yes!" he snapped. "But then you ran off on your own, and to where? TheAlleys, Levy? And to..to the company of people like _him_?!" he gestured to Gajeel, disbelieving. "Look where it's gotten you! What were you _thinking?"_

It was her turn to cross her arms over her chest. The cold was really getting to her, and she was wearing neither jacket nor shoes, and goosebumps had risen all across her exposed skin – which was quite a lot, in the dress Mira had given her – but she tried not to let it visibly affect her. Raising her chin, she squared her shoulders.

"As I've understood it, the Alleys is the best place to disappear," she retorted. "And Mr. Makarov has been a great help to me."

Jet threw his hands up. "_We_ could have been a great help, if you'd let us!"

"I didn't want to drag you down with me!" she near shouted back, feeling desperation claw it way to the surface, breaking through her attempted shell of calm. "I already put you into enough trouble with...with what happened," she said, voice wavering slightly as she remembered the night not so long ago, when she'd run, grief-stricken and in shock, to the wing of her father's mansion where the two men had lodged. She'd barely been able to stutter out what had happened, but neither man had asked any questions as they'd followed her to the scene and her father's blood-soaked, lifeless body, sprawled across the floor of the dining–

She stopped her thoughts, feeling bile rise in her throat. Breathing in deeply, she steeled herself. "You've done enough–"

"_Never,"_ he interrupted her, words fervent, before he averted his eyes, as though suddenly embarrassed. "I- We could never do enough for you," he mumbled softly, and she felt her heart constrict at the fact he laid at her feet. Behind him, Droy only nodded. A heavy silence hung between them like a curtain, and she sighed, feeling the weight of it settle on her shoulders.

_Oh, applesauce..._

Gajeel was strangely silent where he loomed behind her, and she didn't even want to think about the complicated mess their situation had turned into on top of everything – not yet, anyway, and certainly not in front of Jet and Droy. She'd already done enough with the two of them as witnesses. Right now she just needed to sort out her head – she'd tackle the situation with Gajeel when she wasn't so tired, and when Jet didn't look like he was two seconds from pulling out a knife on the man.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, steeling herself, she turned her gaze on her friend. "At the very least, could we do this somewhere else? I'm not up for freezing to death," she said, her voice betraying her weariness. Without waiting for an answer, she turned to go, and could feel Gajeel follow behind her. His closeness was a strange sort of comfort, but she drove the thought far into the back of her mind. She didn't stop to see if Jet and Droy followed – she assumed they would. Her feet were beyond frozen, and she was eager to get inside to warm them.

As they entered through the back, she spoke to Gajeel, her voice low enough so that the others wouldn't catch it. "Please don't provoke him further – I don't need that, atop everything else." He snorted, but said nothing, only shot a look behind him as he followed her inside, but something told her he wouldn't.

When they entered, little had changed from when she had stormed out earlier. The show was still on, and the audience was too captivated by the magician's charms to make any note of the four of them as they came inside the common room. Only Cana noticed, and greeted Levy as she walked up to the bar – casting a look at her lack of shoes, and her otherwise dishevelled appearance.

"Hey, doll. What have you been up to?" she asked, tone sly as she cast Gajeel a look that was something between a warning and curious interest.

Levy shook her head. "Just stepped out for some air," she lied. "I forgot my shoes...and my jacket." And her sense and her propriety and pretty much everything in between, but Cana didn't need to know _that_.

Cana nodded, although by the look on her face, didn't believe a word. "Alright," she said. Her eyes then caught sight of Jet and Droy as they loitered in the background. "You two didn't come in through the front entrance," was all she said, and this time her tone was all warning.

"They came in with me," Levy spoke up. "Cana, this is Jet and Droy, they're...old friends," she said, glancing back at them briefly as she introduced them. Jet still looked angry, but she could tell the place intrigued him. Fairy Tail had that effect on newcomers, and tonight should be no exception. With the chandeliers all lit up, illuminating the soft tapestries and the deep velvet curtains, and the soft, almost rhythmic clink of glasses over the pleased hum of the audience as they took in the show on stage, it was like another world, hidden away in the deepest reaches of the Alleys. A world of magic and fairy lights and a clientèle of the strangest sort. _Her_ world, now. And she would make them see that.

Cana eyed the two of them warily, humming under her breath. "It's on your head, doll," was all she said, before a smile stretched across her face. "Can I get you anything to drink, gentlemen?"

Gajeel was about to speak when she cut him off. _"You've_ had enough – don't think I don't keep count of how much hooch leaves this bar, Redfox. I was askin' the newbies," she snapped, addressing Jet and Droy, who started at the question. Jet looked ready to protest, but the smile on Cana's face had turned men more abstinent, and after a pause he issued his order, and Levy breathed a sigh of relief, hoping a sharp drink would calm him some. A minute later, two glasses were pushed towards them across the shiny counter, along with a seductive wink that had both men smiling despite the tense situation. Gajeel grumbled at Cana's neglect, to which she only waved him off with a grin, and Levy felt a smile tug at her lips. This was why she liked Cana – there were no awkward silences, no unnecessary chitchat. It was a leering grin, a drink and a pat on the back if she was in a good mood. And if she thought she was being cheated...well, it was the same, except there was no grin, no drink, and the pat on the back was more a punch to the face.

Ignoring the boring pleasantries Levy associated with her old life, Cana barged into a conversation with Droy, no doubt attempting to get rid of the tension between the four of them that had to be noticeable from across the room. And as his attention switched to the buxom brunette, Levy tried her best to avoid the remaining two sets of eyes that were trained so intently on herself, wondering how she had gotten herself into this mess and how she could get out of it without causing a scene. Or without Jet and Gajeel causing a scene.

"Here ya go doll, you look like you need it," came the murmur, accompanied by a glass of something dark sliding towards her, and she started at the interruption to her thoughts. Cana gave her a wink and a smile, and she returned it weakly, taking the offered drink as the woman turned to take another order.

"Thanks."

Putting it to her lips, she for once felt the solace of the sharp taste, warming her from the inside out, and she wondered idly if she'd pass out if she drank enough. Despite the soft music and the applause from the audience, and Jellal's voice booming across the room, the silence between the four of them was so potent she almost felt like screaming just to make it _stop._ She caught a glance at Jet from the corner of her eye, and almost groaned as she watched him seize up Gajeel. And of course _he'd_ noticed, and was looking like he'd like nothing more than to arrange a fight right then and there.

And knowing him, and knowing _Jet_, it could only go one way.

"Jet, can I speak to you for a moment?" she heard herself asking, and suddenly, all eyes were on her again. Gajeel made to protest, but she held a hand up, stopping him.

"I'll be five minutes, and I trust him," she said, giving him a look – daring him to say anything. He only glared – didn't even bother to nod, but she knew he'd keep to himself, at least for five minutes. Then all bets were off, and she hoped Jet wouldn't prove too stubborn to convince.

Walking out of earshot, to a far corner of the room but within eyesight of the bar – as both Cana and Gajeel were looking ready to interrupt at any given moment, and that wasn't an argument she felt she could win – Levy turned her attention on her old friend.

"Jet–"

"What are you doing, Levy?" he asked the question again, and she felt her brows furrow at his brash interruption, like she was an errant child having done something foolish. But she let it slide – he was angry enough already without her sass.

"I'm surviving," she said in stead, crossing her arms over her chest as she steeled herself. "And...I'm trying to find a way to get rid of Alexei."

There was a pause where the full force of her words sank in. Jet was gaping like a fish out of water.

"Get rid of– Are you _mad_? Levy – that's dangerous business!"

"And that is why I need _him_," she emphasised, shooting a glance towards the bar. Gajeel hadn't taken his eyes off the two of them, and was glaring like he was two seconds away from coming over and breaking them up. And even from a distance she could see how tense his shoulders were, like an animal ready to pounce on it's prey. And standing there, dressed with all the subtlety of a gangster, his entire stance emitting arrogance and a perpetual air of danger, it was no wonder Jet doubted her choice of protector. But there was a very good reason Levy hadn't asked Makarov to assign her to someone else, and she needed to make Jet see that.

Of course, that wasn't the whole of it, but she didn't quite feel like broaching the other subject just yet.

Meeting his eyes, she felt something akin to a shiver run up her spine, but couldn't for the life of her decide whether it was pleasant or something else. Narrowed as it was, his gaze was intense as it held hers, and she swallowed as she came to terms with the fact that, his loyalty aside, he was not a man to be taken lightly.

"He knows dangerous, Jet," she said as she turned her gaze back to her friend, simultaneously releasing the breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding.

"That's because he _is_ dangerous!" he hissed back. She only narrowed her eyes, but startled when he moved closer, grasping her shoulders, and she was about to protest on his breach of propriety when his words made hers die on her tongue.

"Be honest with me, Levy – was he...in the alley just now, did he..._you know?_"

"If you're asking 'did he force himself on you', the answer is _no_," she snapped, surprised at the force of her own words, but she didn't back down. She could tell he'd expected the answer, but wasn't at all pleased with it. Releasing his grip, he let his arms fall to his sides, although his eyes never left hers, and then he looked at her, really _looked –_ past the unsullied image of her as a dainty heiress, and past the torch she'd known he'd carried for her for years, and she could see in his eyes the realization dawn on him that she was serious.

"Do you realize the risk you're taking?" he asked then. "Men like him...you'd don't know what he's been up to, Levy," he stated – the obvious, as far as she was concerned.

So she shrugged. "I know he bootlegs for Makarov, and that he used to be part of the local mob, and that he's a boxer – probably illegal, too – and that he's knee deep in shady business in the corporate world," she said, as though ticking it off on her fingers.

Jet gaped. "And none of this is sending off any warning bells?!"

"_He knows dangerous_," she repeated, emphasising the words, and when she looked at him, her gaze was cold steel. "And if I'm going to get out of this alive, _I need him." _

She could tell he wanted to argue, but then his shoulders sagged, and a tired sigh pulled itself free of his lips. He shook his head, a mirthless smile on his face. "I'm having a feeling nothing I say will deter you."

"You'd be right," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite the situation. He snorted.

"I don't like it," he muttered. "Not one bit. And I don't like _him_ at all."

She shrugged. "You don't have to. You just have to know that I'm the safest I can get with him."

She saw the doubt in his eyes – a blind man could have seen it – and she knew him well enough to know that he would not relent from what he thought was right. But that was fine by her – she just needed to make sure he wasn't about to do anything rash that would get him killed.

"And what happened in the alley?"

The question felt like a crossroads – like a turning point in a novel where a single decision will decide the course of the rest of the story. It was heavily laden, and with it resurfaced the thoughts she'd tried so hard to push out of her head. Her mind felt heavy with the memory of his hands on her neck, and the shiver of excitement at the burning intention in his eyes. It _was_ dangerous business – luring her to it yet driving her away at the same time, and her sense fought an internal war with her heart over the decision.

She risked a glance towards the bar, her eyes meeting crimson red, and she inhaled deeply before turning back to Jet, a sad smile on her face. "An error of judgement," she finally said with a shake of her head, murmuring under her breath,

"It won't happen again."

* * *

When she finally retired to her room, it was with a heart heavy with burdens she hadn't had when she'd gotten ready for the evening only hours before.

Dropping her shoes by the door, Levy shuffled tiredly across the floor towards her bed. Lucy hadn't come in yet, no doubt still busy enjoying herself downstairs with the others, and the room was quiet and empty, and as she settled herself on the edge of the mattress, she found that, maybe that was just what she needed. At least for a moment. Quiet to sort out her thoughts in peace. Rubbing at her eyes tiredly, she let herself fall back against the bed, relishing the feel of it as she felt her body sink down into the soft mattress. And for the first time since she'd stormed out of the common room and out into the alley, she allowed herself a good, thorough look at the thoughts of what had happened – thoughts that she had kept at bay since they'd come inside, and especially after her talk with Jet.

He'd tried to kiss her. Gajeel Redfox had tired to kiss her. He'd been drunk – at least she'd thought so at the time, but who really knew with a man like him? – and he'd been inappropriately close and his hand had been in her hair, and–

And she'd let him kiss her, if Jet and Droy hadn't barged in.

The thought was almost shockingly clear. In the muddled, confused mess that was the rest of her head, that one piece of information rang like a bell – unavoidable and absolute. She would have let him kiss her.

And then?

She frowned. If Jet and Droy hadn't chosen that exact moment to interrupt, what would have happened? Would she have pushed him away? Or...would she have...let him do as he pleased? She didn't know whether to be intrigued by the thought, or utterly horrified, and settled with a mixture of both. She didn't know what she would have done, and it both irked her and made her all the more curious, because what she did know was that she wasn't completely averse to it happening again. And _that_ was a dangerous thought – a dangerous fact. And she could not – would not – let him know. Ever.

Because nothing good would ever come of her silly fantasies, she knew that with a certainty that left a sour taste in her mouth and an ache behind her ribs. She was a grown woman, in charge of her own life, and she would not hand her heart over to a man who was more likely to break it rather than treasure it. This was a truth she knew she had to abide by. She would not put herself forth to be broken and left to rot – she had too much to lose, too much on the line, for that to happen. Until she'd avenged her father and cleared her family's name, her life was not her own, and even then she doubted she'd make a different choice.

Because no matter how intriguing – no matter the magnitude of feelings evoked by a simple touch – Gajeel Redfox was not worth risking her heart.

She heard the sound of the door creaking open, followed by the soft padding of feet, but she didn't bother to get up. "Levy?" the soft whisper cut through the quiet.

"Hey," she said, simply.

The old kerosene lamp flickered to life in the corner, and then the mattress dipped beside her. Turning her head, she met the concerned eyes of her best friend. "Are you feeling unwell?" Lucy asked, a frown pulling her brows down as she placed a hand against Levy's forehead.

She smiled ruefully. "Define 'unwell'." Lucy tilted her head to the side, and Levy sighed. "I made a mistake, Lu."

Settling down on the bed next to her and curling her legs up, Lucy shuffled close, and Levy was reminded of the times she'd spent at the Heartfilia manor after Lucy's mother had died, curled up at night with a friend who hadn't been able to keep the nightmares away. Now, years later, it was Lucy's turn to offer comfort. "Tell me about it?"

Levy inhaled deeply, steeling herself. Looking up into the ceiling, her brows furrowed in determination, she opened her heart.

"I think I might have fallen for Gajeel Redfox."

…

Lucy said nothing, and when Levy turned her gaze back on her friend, she was biting her lip to hide a grin. She sat up sharply. "Lucy! Don't smile – it's _not_ a good thing!"

"But why not?"

"Because...because it's not! Can't we just leave it at that?"

Lucy snorted. "No."

Levy sighed, flopping back down onto the mattress, a sullen look on her face. "Why not?"

"Because you'd do with a little love in your life," her friend retorted.

"It's a _bad idea_."

"Says you."

"Says _everyone_!" she snapped. Lucy raised a brow.

"Have you asked them? And why are you so upset about it – did he say something? No! - Levy, did he turn you down? Surely not–"

"He didn't...turn me down," she said, stopping Lucy mid-sentence. "He...well, he kind of...tried to...kiss me...I think."

Lucy's eyes lit up, but there was a wry smile on her face. "You _think_?" she asked, but when she saw the look on Levy's face, her grin fell. "What happened?"

Levy placed her hands over her face, suddenly embarrassed. "I...Jet and Droy showed up."

There was a moment of silence, and when she removed her hands to look at Lucy, she was attempting not to laugh. "Lucy!"

And then she finally burst, and her laughter bounced off the walls of the bedroom, and if it hadn't been for the fact that the party was still going on downstairs, she would have woken the entire place. "Oh, Levy–oh, that's just _priceless_!"

"It's not funny!"

"Oh, no. It is funny – I can only _imagine_...!" She wiped at her eyes, wet with mirth. "And poor Jet's always been so goofy about you."

Levy glared. "It was _embarrassing_, is what it was! And horrifying– I can't even talk about it!" She felt a hot blush creep up her neck, and groaned. "It was awful, Lucy!"

Lucy smiled slyly. "Did they see that much?"

Levy huffed. "Well, _no_. He was about to...and his hand was...and then they were there, and Jet lost his temper, and I...I don't really know what to _do_, Luce."

Seeing her distress, Lucy's expression lost its smile, and she scooted closer. "Hey," she murmured, reaching out to pull Levy's hands away from her face. "They'll get over it. You're a grown woman, and they should know what that entails."

"But–"

"And if you want to kiss men then that's–"

"That's just it!" Levy sat up. "I...I wanted to kiss him! Or, I wanted him to kiss me, or...I don't know, but it's a _mistake_, and I can't...I can't let it happen. Not now. Or ever."

Lucy frowned, and her stare was penetrating as she took in her friend's anguish. And then her gaze softened. "You've got it bad, haven't you?" she asked then, and Levy sputtered a laugh – mirthless.

"Yeah." Shaking her head, she inhaled deeply. "Yeah, I have."

"And you're sure you don't want to...I don't know, see if maybe you're not onto something?"

She snorted. "What?" Catching her friend's look, she sighed. "I'm not...like that, Lucy. And I've lost too much – I'm not about to lose my heart on top of things."

"Who says you would?"

Levy only shook her head. A romantic might have found hope in the situation, but _she_ wasn't naïve. They were from two different worlds, and although currently part of the same one, their backgrounds were hard to ignore. She'd grown up in a world of courtships and propriety – not drunken necking in dark alleys. And even if she couldn't say truthfully that the latter was completely undesirable, it all came down to the fact that she just wasn't up for risking herself that way. Not to mention it would have complicated their situation tenfold, and it was difficult enough as it was!

She was about to open her mouth when a sharp rap on the door had her words halting on her tongue, and she sat up, blinking. Lucy frowned. "It's late," she said.

Levy nodded, but rose from the bed to pad across the soft carpet. "Who's there?" she called out.

There was a pause, and then a grumble from the other side that had her heart doing an involuntary skip in her chest, "It's me."

Lucy's eyes shot into her hairline, and Levy didn't know what to do with herself. Rising from the bed, the blonde ushered her forward, grinning, and Levy couldn't even find it in herself to protest as she was all but shoved towards the door. Giving her friend a sharp glare, Levy turned, hand above the doorknob as she inhaled deeply. Opening it, she steeled herself as she met his gaze. He was leaning against the wall opposite, brows furrowed, the dark colour of his clothes a sharp contrast to the soft hues of the hallway. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and Levy was acutely aware of Lucy's presence in the room behind her.

"It's late," she said then, softly, but couldn't tell if she'd meant it as a statement or a question. His eyes shifted quickly to somewhere behind her, before going back to her.

"Some privacy possible?" he grumbled, and she started at his voice, but complied, stepping out and closing the door softly behind her. Her eyes never left his, and as she leaned against the door, a heavy silence seemed to settle between them – a void of unanswered questions and untouched topics – and she clenched her hands into fists at her sides as she dreaded what was to come.

"So..." she began, tentatively, as though testing the waters.

Gajeel glared. "What did he say?"

She blinked. "Who?"

He snorted, as though the answer was obvious. "Speedy – what did he say? You've been actin' all strange since you had your little 'chat'," he muttered, and Levy swallowed. She shouldn't have been surprised, really. He didn't strike her as the kind of man to beat around the bush, anyway. Inhaling deeply, she dived in head first.

"He was just concerned about me. That I...that you..." she trailed off, scowling as her words escaped her.

"That I was takin' advantage of ya," he said, almost painfully blunt.

She averted her gaze, unable to take the intensity of his glaring eyes, but nodded softly. "Yeah."

"And what did you tell 'im?"

She shook her head. "That it was consensual, but..." she inhaled deeply. "But...that it wasn't going to happen again." And now she looked up, and met his gaze full on. His eyes seemed to look through her rather that at her, and she trembled where she stood, feeling like shrinking back but stubbornly keeping her shoulders straight. She had made her decision, and she would abide by it. To preserve her sanity and her heart, she would do what it took, even if it meant giving up on the one thing that had made her feel something other than remorse and hate since her father's murder.

He didn't say anything for a long time, just loomed before her, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, giving no clues to what he thought of her decision, and she was beginning to become jittery when he finally spoke.

"Alright."

Then he was turning away from her, and she felt something heavy settle behind her ribs, constricting painfully, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, unable to look at him anymore in fear that she'd do...something. She didn't know what, but there was something about him that brought out the impulsive in her, and if she kept looking at him she might be tempted to–

She didn't have the chance to finish her thought when he suddenly turned back, the action catching her off guard, and she jumped slightly, and her heart did a jolt in her chest. His gaze softened ever so slightly at her reaction. "I ain't gonna hurt ya, Shorty," he said then, and despite her surprise – and despite the fact that the words had her heart skipping another beat – something dark from within her leaped out in retaliation; an errant memory of a sharp remark uttered with distaste, and she scoffed softly.

"Well, you were hired to protect me, weren't you? It's your _job,"_ she said, using his own words against him, and surprising herself with how sharp the remark sounded coming from her, hissing like acid. She could see his shoulders tense, and his brows furrowed sharply, and for a split second she thought he would retaliate – _hoped_ he would, because his silence was throwing her off.

But he said nothing of the sort – not even a snort or an insult – only turned to walk away. "I'll be sparrin' with Lily tomorrow, so I won't be in before noon," came his gruff voice, thrown over his shoulder as he paused a few paces down the hall. "Keep yourself occupied here until I'm back."

The change of subject and refusal to acknowledge their previous topic spoke volumes of what he thought about it, and she didn't know what she thought about that. So she only nodded, settling with resignation. "Alright," she said, and her voice had lost its snap, leaving behind an almost muted murmur that sounded pitiful to her own ears. Eyes on his back, she felt panic rise in her throat at letting him leave in such a way, and before he was completely out of earshot, and before she convince herself of otherwise, she called after him,

"Goodnight...Gajeel."

He halted in his step, but picked up his pace so quickly she didn't know if she'd imagined it, and said nothing in return. And as she watched him walk away down the softly lit corridor, his broad frame throwing sharp shadows against the cream-coloured walls, the thought struck her that, despite her attempted self-preservation, it was all in vain, wasn't it? She'd already given up her heart. He was walking away with it right now, clutched in scarred hands that had no doubt done more harm than good.

And she wasn't sure if she'd ever get it back in one piece.

* * *

AN: That's the thing about hearts – they tend to give themselves up rather than ask first. And pfft, like I was going to make things easy for them. That'll be the day. **  
**

Next up: Lucy visits the Pit, and gets a bit more than she bargained for.


	10. social pitfalls

AN: First of all, a huge thank you for the feedback I've gotten on this so far. Truly, I cannot express how encouraging it is to continue after reviews like yours, you awesome people, you! Secondly, this is another one for Natsu and Lucy, and more Lily for Lily-fans! The setting takes place during chapter 3 – i.e the Pit.**  
**

OH! And it has come to my attention that holysheep-chan has drawn some amazing pictures for Hard Liquor! Go check out her tumblr (holysheep-chan) and bask in the glory of her talent! Seriously – they're ridiculously good. And the lovely Rae has also made some super-cool doodles of her own, with plenty Gajeel badassery (tumblr: raedoodles). You two are so talented I can only drool and clap my hands like a silly-person. I AM NOT WORTHY.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter X**

She really was an oddball, that Lucy.

Watching as she ate her breakfast, Natsu wondered at her strange manners when it came to something as simple as _eating_. Honestly, he hadn't seen anyone who ate breakfast like that – all fancy and with a knife and fork. Had it been him, he'd have just eaten the sandwich with his hands.

Speaking of breakfast...he was feeling kind of hungry.

"You gonna eat all that?"

She raised a brow at him, her fork halting at her lips, and he grinned in what he hoped was a pleasant manner. Then she snorted. "You look like a hungry mutt," she said.

"Would you feed a hungry mutt?" he asked, ignoring the insult. He'd been called worse from worse people. He didn't even think she was being serious, and even so, he wasn't one to lose his temper over remarks like that.

"If it was a cute mutt," she said then, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Natsu grinned, and said the first thing that popped into his head.

"You should smile more, Luce – you're a lot prettier when you're not glaring."

The comment made her blush, although _why_, he had no idea – he was just stating a fact. Well, he'd established that she was an oddball, so it was probably just that.

"It's 'Lucy', and I _do_ smile," she defended, making that silly remark about his use of her name that he'd chosen to ignore. He knew she was posh and all, but he figured if she was going to live with them in the Alleys, she'd need to shake off some of the, well, _posh-ness_. He didn't care about what was proper, and it'd be a lot easier if she got used to that, but he figured he'd give her some time.

And call her 'Luce' so much she'd get used to it, he thought with a smile.

Something seemed to pass over her face, and then she looked almost...sad – the look she'd had on her face when she'd first arrived. Somehow he didn't like it. He didn't know why, there was just something about it that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and something clench in his stomach. Then it was gone, and he frowned, wondering what it had been, but didn't have a chance to ask when the click of heels on hardwood had them both looking up. At the entrance to the common room stood Gajeel's girl – Levy...something. The old man had told him, but he couldn't remember the surname. But he was pretty sure her name was Levy, and that she was in the same fix as Lucy, meaning she needed someone to watch her back. Although out of all the people Makarov could have chosen, Natsu was surprised he'd picked Gajeel, knowing his distaste for the upper classes.

Although the girl standing in the doorway didn't look very posh, so maybe it was working out. Hell if he knew. Gajeel never spoke about his jobs in detail, anyway.

"Good morning, Levy," Lucy greeted her with a smile, to which she returned one that wasn't at all very happy. Natsu's frown deepened, and he decided that he didn't much like that everyone walked around looking unhappy, and that he needed to do something about it. As she came over to their table, he jumped up, holding out a hand as he flashed her what he hoped was a welcoming grin.

"Mornin'! I didn't meet you last night – I'm Natsu!"

She blinked, before accepting the hand, and a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips this time. "Nice to meet you, Natsu," she said, before shooting a glance at Lucy. "So this is the one who pushed you into the river, then?"

Lucy hummed, a wry smile on her face, and Natsu grinned. "Talkin' about me, huh, Luce?" he asked with a wink, and laughed at the blush that spread across her cheeks.

"Doesn't mean it was good talk!" she retorted as she put her cup of tea to her lips, and he only laughed more as he seated himself. Levy pulled a chair up to sit down beside them, murmuring her thanks as Lucy pushed the pot of tea and an empty cup towards her. "Did you sleep well?"

She frowned as she poured the tea. "Better than expected," she mumbled as she placed the pot down onto the table, and Natsu frowned as he caught her fingers twitching, before her other hand came to grasp her wrist. Lucy hummed, but didn't seem to notice.

"It is always strange – the first night in a new place," she said with a smile. "You'll get used to it. We both will."

Levy nodded, putting the cup to her lips as she blew on the steaming tea. "Mm." Casting a look around the room, a frown tugged her brows down, and she turned her gaze to Natsu. "Has Gajeel come in?" she asked.

Natsu blinked. "He didn't tell you?"

She put the cup down, her frown deepening. "Tell me what?"

Natsu shrugged. "He went to spar with Lily earlier – said he wouldn't be back before this afternoon. He didn't mention that yesterday?"

Her frown darkened, and her fingers clenched around the cup in her hands. "No, he must have forgotten," she muttered. "Wait – did you say 'spar'?"

Natsu nodded. "Yeah – why?"

She blinked. "As in...?"

He grinned, catching on. "Boxing, of course!"

Her brows shot into her hairline. "He's a boxer?" she asked, and he caught the glimmer of interest in her eyes.

Lucy looked intrigued as well, humming as she munched on her sandwich. "Seems the type, doesn't he?" she mused.

Natsu nodded. "We've been boxing for the same club for years," he said, and Lucy blinked.

"What – _you_, too?"

He grinned. "Of course!"

She raised a brow. "Is it legal?"

Levy snorted. "Is anything legal in this part of town?" she murmured. Natsu shrugged.

"Lily runs a clean business, if that's what you mean, but a few of us have fought for other clubs a few times. It's bloodier, but it brings in more cash."

Lucy crinkled her nose in distaste. "Sounds barbaric."

Levy quirked a smile. "This Lily – is he part of Fairy Tail, too?"

Natsu smiled. "Sort of. He works with the old man, but he's mostly busy running his club."

"And that's where Gajeel is?" she asked. Natsu nodded, and then a thought struck him, and a grin broke out across his face.

Lucy frowned. "I don't like that look."

"What?" he asked.

She pointed her fork at him. "That look. I can tell it means trouble. What are you scheming?"

His grin widened. "I just got an idea!" he declared as he rose, taking them by surprise. Placing his hands down onto the table, he leaned towards them, eyes shining at the prospect he was about to propose.

"I'm taking you to the Pit!"

* * *

Somehow, he didn't think Lucy was enjoying it as much as he'd thought she would.

He didn't really understand _why_ – the Pit was perfect! It held so many good memories, he couldn't find a single thing wrong with it. Well, other than the damp, and the occasional smell that no one really knew what was, but for most of them that had grown up in the Alley's nooks and corners, it was home in the same way Fairy Tail was.

He was in the middle of eagerly telling her of all the injuries he'd had and the various place's he'd acquired them, when a gruff voice called across the room, "Never did fix that crack, did they?"

Natsu rolled his eyes. "You're one to talk, scrap-metal. It's not like you're made of _iron_, either," he quipped with a smirk. It was a standing jest between them – or well, from his side, at least. Gajeel didn't joke much. After his first official fight in the ring he'd gotten a reputation for the sheer force behind his punches, and had been nicknamed 'Iron Fist' by the eager crowd. But iron punches aside, Natsu knew for a fact that he was injured just as badly as the rest of them – he was just damn stubborn about it, and tried to brush off a broken arm like he'd do a bruise.

Natsu could tell he was about to retort with something when Levy beat him to it, stepping up to the ring as she addressed him, and suddenly he was glad he wasn't in Gajeel's shoes. He might have accidentally pushed Lucy into the Magnolia river, but at least he hadn't left her at the speakeasy by herself to wait like a pet. He didn't need to have known her long to know that she'd have been _furious_.

Shooting a glance at her, he found she looked more concerned now than angry, and chalked it up to having to do with Levy, but by the way she was tackling Gajeel, he didn't think she had anything to worry about.

"They'll be fine, you know," he said. She hummed, frowning as they threw insults at each other like punches. Lily seemed to be thinking along the same thoughts, because suddenly he'd stepped between them to introduce himself, and Natsu could see Lucy's brows shoot up into her hairline at the sight of him, but that wasn't uncommon for people meeting Lily for the first time. Considering the colour of his skin, it wasn't considered normal – even in the Alleys where most things passed as legal – for him to have the profession he had or his standing in society. Frankly, Natsu thought it was ridiculous – why anyone would obsess over skin-colour was about as understandable as those who thought women shouldn't do the same things men did. Hell, Erza was living proof they could. And Lily was a right cool cat – anyone who knew him could vouch for that, and even outside his circles he had a better reputation than most businessmen in the Alleys.

Of course, it helped that he was one of Makarov's closest associates, but Natsu knew Lily had been the owner of the Pit long before he'd even met the old man. And he ran his business well, despite the shape of the place, but he claimed he liked it that way whenever anyone asked about it. Natsu didn't really see a problem with that, either. He hauled in just as much money as the fancier clubs, anyway. Like Sabertooth.

A dark frown tugged his brows down at the thought of their biggest rival, and he itched to get back into the ring so he could have a legitimate reason to punch one of their self-righteous members in the face. It didn't even matter _who_ – they had enough to pick from in that category, anyways, the smug bastards.

"In the presence of ladies, Gajeel," he caught Lily's reprimand, and looked up to see the man pull on a shirt, and only then did it strike him that he might have heard somewhere that it wasn't polite to undress in front of women, but Lucy didn't seem to mind.

"You don't care, do ya, Luce?" he asked, to which she rolled her eyes.

"It's 'Lucy', and _yes_, I do care. Do I look like I was raised by wolves?" she asked, and the comment made him laugh. She said so many strange things, and she still called _him_ an oddball. What a weirdo!

"It's the easiest way to earn good money in this town," he heard Gajeel say then, and grinned.

"Yeah!" he agreed loudly, and then a thought struck him, and he rounded on Lucy and Levy. "Hey! You two should come watch a match – Lily's pretty famous around here," he said, feeling eagerness bubble inside him. Even if she was iffy about the Pit, he just _knew_ she'd like a match – there was no better entertainment to find in the Alleys, if you left out one of Jellal's magic shows, of course, but he didn't show up very often, so boxing was the most common sport.

She looked like she wasn't too keen on the idea, but he knew that if he got her to go to one, she'd like it. Why wouldn't she? And if she was lucky, she'd get to see Erza, or maybe even himself. It had been a while since he'd been in the ring – he'd taken a bad blow to the head on his last match, and when he'd finally recovered Makarov had sprung his new job on him, but he could ask Lily if there was anything scheduled soon.

His eagerness had released something in him, and without asking – who did that, anyways? – he tugged Lucy with him to show her more of the room. She'd have to know a bit if she was going to watch a match, and maybe if she got to know the place, she'd like it more.

He almost tugged her glove right off her hand, and laughed, sliding his fingers further up so he could grasp her wrist in stead, and she jolted suddenly. He wondered if he should tell her that she had really soft skin, but decided against it – she'd developed a habit during their short time together of smacking him across the head whenever she thought he was doing something improper, and it was difficult to tell what she approved of and what she didn't.

So he said nothing, but tugged her along to show her the equipment. Most of it was in pretty bad shape, and some of it had been there as long as he'd been training there – which was a good ten years now – but it was part of the place just as much as Lily was part of the place, and he told her this, and even if she looked a little put off, he saw a flash of intrigue in her eyes that had him grinning. And even if it meant more work, he suddenly found himself happy that the old man had assigned him to protect her. Something told him she was a lot more fun than she let on.

Suddenly remembering another thing the boss had assigned him to do, he called out. "Hey, Gajeel! The old man said he needed to speak with you. Sounded important," he said with a shrug, before a smirk tugged on his lips, and he shot his friend a sly look.

"Or maybe you're just getting a scolding for leaving Levy this morning. Someone's in trouble~!"

"Shaddup," Gajeel growled as he pulled on a shirt and refastened his hair, before brushing past Levy as he stalked towards the exit. Natsu felt Lucy's fingers twitch, and he startled when he noticed that he was still holding her wrist, and released it suddenly, feeling like he'd done something wrong. She jumped when he did, and looked at him, mouth slightly agape as if she wanted to say something, but then she closed it and averted her eyes.

Well...that was awkward.

Feeling like he should say something but having no idea what, Natsu was saved the trouble by Levy as she followed Gajeel towards the exit.

"The day I carry your towels, Mr. Redfox, is the day I have so little dignity left I might as well kiss your feet," he heard her growl, and he couldn't help but grin. It wasn't often Gajeel had someone talk back to him, let alone someone so...well, _small_. But she had spunk, he'd give her that.

Gajeel, too, seemed to have come to the same conclusion, and if Natsu didn't know any better, he'd have thought the man was a little impressed. "Stay a while in this world, princess, and you can be sure that 'dignity' won't stick around for long," he snarled back, before he stepped out, pushing through the first doorway and out into the hallway. Levy seethed, but followed suit, and he heard Lucy shout her good-byes.

Turning back to her, he was surprised to see her look almost worried. "You okay?"

She sighed, but nodded. "Yeah, I just...I'm worried about her. They don't get along very well."

He shrugged. "Gajeel doesn't really get along with anyone, so I'd say they were getting along just fine," he said, not seeing the problem. He was surprised Gajeel hadn't refused to do the job in the first place, but he'd just figured the old man had managed to rope him into doing it with some kind of blackmail. He had some on all of them – they sure got into enough trouble to owe him more than a few favours.

Lucy hummed to herself, and then she smiled, shaking her head. "I guess I'm just worried – she'll be fine."

Natsu grinned. "Right?"

From behind them, Lily spoke up. "I don't believe you've introduced me to your friend, Natsu," he said, and Natsu smacked his forehead.

"Ah! Sorry, Lily – this is Lucy!" he said, giving her a nudge that sent her stumbling, and she yelped, but caught herself.

Lily smiled, and bowed at the waist in the way Natsu had never really managed to make seem quite as spiffy. "A pleasure," he greeted. "I'm Lily – I take it you're one of Makarov's new girls?"

Natsu didn't know what it'd been, but something in that sentence made her smile widely, and she nodded. "Yes – yes I am. Lucy," she introduced herself. "You're the owner, then?" she asked, eyes doing a quick sweep of the room.

Lily nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against one of the ring's corner-poles. "That I am. What do you think of the place?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips, and Lucy smiled.

"It's...got spirit," she said, honestly, and Lily looked almost impressed.

"That's a compliment if I've ever heard one," he remarked, and Natsu felt himself smile. He'd wanted her to like it, and it seemed that she did, despite her earlier frowns, but that could have just been the rust and the dirt – some people had issues with that.

An idea suddenly struck him, and he couldn't help himself. "Hey, Luce – wanna spar?"

She blinked, mouth agape, as she'd been about to say something to Lily when he'd interrupted, and she looked like a fish out of water. "Eh?"

He grinned. "I said, 'you wanna spar?'"

"As in...with you? In the ring?" she asked, blinking furiously.

"Yeah!"

"Are you _mad_?!"

He laughed. "C'mon, Luce – it'll be fun!"

"Natsu, I'm...I'm wearing a _dress!"_ she said, as though this was the answer to everything. He snorted.

"So? Erza spars with a skirt all the time."

She blinked. "She...does?"

He nodded. "Yeah, she's an oddball, but she's strong as hell."

Lucy sighed. "But I'm not Erza, Natsu."

He snorted. "That's kind of obvious, Luce."

"I mean, I can't box!"

"Can't you learn?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, and then something seemed to dawn on her – as though an idea had suddenly struck her. And then a smirk settled on her face.

Weird.

"It'd be pretty outrageous," she said then, almost to herself. "Not to mention ten different kinds of improper. And my father would never have approved." Natsu raised a brow, about to ask what she was talking about, when she nodded to herself. "Alright."

Turning her gaze on him, her eyes twinkled. "Let's spar."

He grinned. "Really?"

She nodded. "Nothing dangerous, right? Just basic stuff?"

"Sure!"

Turning towards the ring, he was met by two sets of eyes and two sets of raised brows – Lily's and Elfman's. The older of the two looked beyond amused, while Elfman looked intrigued, and Natsu only grinned in response.

"You know what you're doing?" Lily asked, tone dubious.

Natsu shrugged. "Can't be that hard."

Lily snorted. "Teaching rookies is harder than you think," he said, giving him a knowing look, and Natsu laughed. Lily had always said he was over-eager and that it'd only get him into a sickbed if he wasn't careful. And yeah, if he'd listened he might have avoided more than a few injuries, but he wouldn't have gotten his nickname if he had. And 'Salamander' was a darn cool name, and a direct result of his so-called 'fiery recklessness', so he really couldn't make himself regret it. It was just the way he was.

"Would you care to help then, Mr. Lily?" Lucy asked, and Lily chuckled, pushing himself away from the pole.

"Just 'Lily' is more than enough," he said as he pulled the ropes apart to let her up. "And I'll see what I can do. It's not every day we have a lady amongst us," he said with a smile and a wink.

Lucy snorted. "Not much of a lady anymore, I'm afraid," she mumbled, brushing her gloved hands against her skirt as she climbed into the ring. Placing them on her hips, she stepped into the middle, taking in the sight of the room from her new perspective.

Turning to Lily, she smiled. "So, what do I need to do first?"

Natsu climbed up and through the ropes, grinning all the way. This would be fun!

Lily gave her a quick once-over. "Take off your gloves, and we'll get your hands wrapped. I don't think we'll be doing anything dangerous, but it's better to be on the safe side," he said as he walked to one of the corners to retrieve a roll of bandages. "Natsu didn't listen his first time, and broke two fingers," he said, shooting Natsu another reprimanding look, but his eyes were crinkled with good humour.

Natsu laughed. "Ah! I'd almost forgotten about that!"

Lucy looked a little concerned, but tugged her gloves off and held out her hands for Lily to wrap, watching with a fascination that made Natsu strangely happy. All the while, Lily talked about the importance of protecting the hands and of the different bones and how much they could handle.

"You've got small hands, but that doesn't mean they can't do damage. In a match you'd be using gloves, and the force behind your punch would be the determining factor of its success. That, and the angle and precision, of course. There you go."

Lucy nodded, flexing her hands when Lily tied the final knot, and turning them over so she could look at them. Natsu grinned, rubbing his own bandaged hands together, enjoying the feel of just being in the ring again. There was something special about it – like a thrum of excitement in the air, and he jumped a bit on the spot, feeling eagerness simmer in his belly.

"And now?" Lucy asked. Lily smiled.

"If I may?" he asked, gesturing to the hat she had on her head, and she laughed as she handed it to him. Reaching up, she pulled something out of her hair to make it fall down, before reaching around to tie it at a knot at her neck. "There." Looking down on herself, she frowned, as though not finding it to her satisfaction. Kicking off her heeled shoes, she shoved them away so they fell down onto the floor below, and then she loosened the buttons on her sleeves of her blouse to roll them up to her elbows.

"Alright, I'm done," she said then, hands on her hips and a pleased smile on her face.

Lily laughed. "Eager to get started – that's good. Perhaps we'll train you so well you'll give Erza a run for her money," he jested, and Natsu almost choked.

"One's more than enough, Lil," he said, and Lily threw his head back, his laughter booming across the room. Lucy raised a brow.

"I think I need to see her fight one day – you're making me very curious," she said, and startled suddenly when Elfman chose that moment to climb into the ring behind her, a grin on his face.

"She is truly a sight to behold. A true woman!" he exclaimed, proudly. Lily grinned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I have trained her myself, but it's been a long time since she's needed my assistance," he said with a shrug. "Well then, shall we get started, Miss Lucy?"

She grinned. "If I'm to call you just 'Lily', surely you can call me 'Lucy'," she said, before her eyes suddenly found Natsu's, and this time, her eyes smiled along with her mouth. "Or 'Luce'," she said – and the remark had his brows shooting into his hairline, before a wide smile broke out across his face.

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

He cracked his knuckles. "Alright! I'm getting fired up already!"

She laughed – _really_ laughed. The kind of laughter Cana was known for, bouncing off the walls and filling the entire room to the brim. 'Like good ale', as the woman herself would say – strong and sharp and unforgettable.

And he couldn't stop smiling.

Positioning himself, he inclined his head. "Ready?"

She nodded, flexing her hands. "Ready...I think."

Lily stepped up beside her. "May I?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're too polite – I wouldn't have agreed to this if I was averse to such thing," she said with a wry smile.

He chuckled. "Never hurts to ask," he said, before reaching out to adjust her arms. "First thing you need to know is how to defend," he began, nudging her arms so they were lifted in front of her, and then placing his hands over hers, curling her fingers into fists.

"First rule – a broken nose is unpleasant, so make sure you don't let your hands drop. They're what you'll be defending yourself with."

Flexing her fingers, Lucy held them in front of her face, and Lily nodded. "Good. Rule number two – size isn't an issue unless you make it an issue. You're small – use that to your advantage. Be quick," he emphasised by doing a sharp jab with his fist at the air, "and then defend. Don't loiter."

She nodded, breathing in deeply, and then letting it out. "And rule number three?" she asked, eyes focused intently on Natsu standing in front of her.

Lily grinned. "Always keep an eye on your opponent; look for weaknesses and always be ready to– block!" And at this, he shot forward, fist headed straight for Natsu, who blocked it easily.

"You're paying attention," Lily said, tone approving. "Took you ten years of broken noses to teach you that. I'd almost given up hope."

Natsu laughed, scratching the back of his head, and Lucy only shook hers. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked the air.

Lily shook his head, before he gestured for Natsu to get ready. "Now, to the actual attacking," he said, and Natsu held his hands up, palms open and turned out.

"You," Lily continued, placing his hands on Lucy's shoulders, "Will aim a punch at Natsu, who'll block. Sounds fair?"

She nodded, and Natsu noticed with a grin that her tongue stuck out when she concentrated. It was...oddly endearing. "Like this?" she asked, and aimed a hit at one of his hands. Her knuckles struck his upturned palm, the impact feeling more like a soft pat than an actual attack, and he raised a brow in response.

She huffed. "Just a test," she said as she got ready again, and when she struck this time it had a bit more force to it. Natsu grinned.

Lily nodded. "Better. Try putting more of your shoulder into it – there!"

She laughed as she struck out again, and Natsu caught her fist, smiling at the delight shining in her eyes. "Hey, this is rather fun!" she exclaimed.

Pulling her arm back again, she propelled herself forward, putting a little too much force into it now, as she lost her balance. Quick on the uptake, Natsu caught her, his fingers closing around her fist and his free arm coming around to catch her at the waist as she stumbled. There was a moment where they both froze, and he could hear her inhale sharply, and then even he became aware of how close they were and that it probably wasn't very proper.

Releasing her quickly, he scratched the back of his head to occupy his hands as she pulled away, a blush colouring her cheeks. "Sorry," she mumbled.

From behind her, Natsu caught Lily's amused smile, and for some reason he felt a little embarrassed. "Uh, so, yeah. Little less force next time?"

Lucy grinned, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, before she re-positioned herself. "Duly noted," she murmured, shooting him a quick glance, before she straightened her shoulders.

And he found that – watching as she threw herself into her new task with vigour – that he liked it when she smiled. And she was smiling – and laughing, when her stocking-clad feet stumbled over each other, or when she missed a punch. Strands of her hair had escaped the knot she'd made, and fell about her flushed face wildly. It was everything but proper...but something told him she didn't care, and that made him smile. But what drew the most of his attention was the smile on _her_ face – stretching from one ear to the other, for once reflected in her eyes.

And for some strange reason, he felt compelled to keep it there. To keep her grinning like she was now, sparring with him in the ring.

His inattentiveness almost had him missing one of her punches, but he caught himself just in time. She didn't seem to notice – so caught up in the instructions Lily had given her. "Keep a mind on where you place your feet," he instructed, and she nodded, flexing her fingers slightly, and a slight grimace tugged at her features.

"Perhaps we should leave it at that for now," Lily suggested, shooting Natsu a look, and he nodded, letting his arms fall to his sides.

Lucy blinked, before a smile pulled at her lips. "Well...it was fun," she said. "Thank you, Natsu – and Lily."

Lily inclined his head. "A pleasure. It's a shame there aren't more women braving the confines of the ring – it would breathe some new life into this sport."

She laughed, brushing her hands against her skirt as she settled down onto the planks. Natsu followed, but not before bringing over the bucket sitting beside one of the corner-poles. "You thirsty?" he asked. "It's probably not the cleanest..."

She shook her head. "That's fine – it would have to be pretty bad for me to refuse it _now!"_ she said, reaching for one of the cups floating in the water, and Natsu couldn't keep his brows from shooting up in surprise.

It would seem that some of her 'posh-ness' had been rubbed off already, and it hadn't been a full day yet!

He wondered briefly what she'd be like if she stayed with them permanently. A frown tugged at his brows as he realized he had no idea how long she planned on staying, or even if it was just a temporary thing – a passing fancy of a privileged child. But that didn't sound like her. He knew she still had a family, though – hell, everyone in Magnolia knew about her family. He didn't know the particulars of _why_ she'd come into Makarov's care, but the old man had stressed the importance of keeping her hidden. When Natsu had asked, he'd just said she'd desired a new life, and he'd accepted that. He'd had no more reason to pry into her business than he had prying into that of his friends.

Now, though...it genuinely bothered him that he didn't know her full intentions.

"What?"

Her question pulled him out of his thoughts, and he blinked as his eyes focused on her where she was seated in front of him. There was a concerned frown on her face. Down below, Lily was chatting with Elfman, their voices muted.

He shook his head. "'S nothing."

She raised a brow. "I can't say I know you very well yet, but something tells me you're not one to easily lose himself in his thoughts," she said with a quirk of the lips, before her expression turned serious. "Are you alright?"

"Are you going to stay?"

She blinked, mouth parted and clearly taken aback by the question. Natsu only looked at her. He wasn't one for beating around the bush.

After a pause, she spoke. "I'm assuming you mean in Fairy Tail," she said. He nodded, and she sighed, shoulders slumping as thought a weight had been put on them. "To be honest with you...I don't know," she said then, shaking her head. "I must sound silly, but...my situation is...difficult," she continued, brows furrowing in thought. "My father...I'm not in the same situation Levy is. My father isn't gone, and I haven't been thrown out. In fact...I left."

Meeting his gaze, she breathed out through her nose. "Ran away, as it were."

He didn't say anything to that, and she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. After a pause, Natsu shrugged. "Okay."

She blinked, caught by surprise. "Okay?"

He grinned. "I just wanted to know if you wanted to stay," he said, and her eyes lit up.

"I do want to stay – more than anything!"

"Then stay."

She opened her mouth, and then closed it, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. "You make it sound so easy."

He shrugged. "It is easy. Stay with us – you're happy, aren't you?"

That made her really smile, and he returned it, feeling like he'd said something right, but not knowing what. "Yeah – yeah I am."

He jumped to his feet, brushing his hands against his trousers, before reaching down to help her up. "Then it's settled."

She regarded his outstretched hand, then him, and several different things seemed to pass across her face before she seemed to come to a decision. Grasping it, she closed her fingers around his, and he gripped them tightly as he hauled her to her feet. Staggering slightly, she apologised, but didn't release her grip on his hand.

He met her eyes, and she regarded him closely. "Will you stay by me then?" she asked, and there was something odd with the way she said it, but he shrugged off the feeling, choosing in stead to grin.

"Of course!"

She shook her head, but her smile didn't falter. Letting go of his hand, she turned to slip through the ropes, laughing her thanks when Lily appeared below to help her down. Left in the ring alone, Natsu inhaled deeply, a frown tugging his brows down as he looked down at his hand, bandaged still in his trademark sloppy manner.

And tingling.

His hand was tingling...and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

* * *

AN: If you haven't seen the film _Cinderella Man_, you should. It was what inspired the boxing element of this story. And the suspenders.


	11. bank's closed

AN: _Ohmygosh,_ Pantherlily! If you want a smack _perfect_ visual image of what his human self looks like in this story, go to bluefira's tumblr (bluefira). Her talent is staggering, and she's truly put to life the image of Lily I've had in my mind since I started writing this story. Go check it out! (She's also done some other mind-bogglingly good GaLe pieces, for those of you looking for visual eyecandy for this pairing).

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XI**

Things could have been worse.

Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers, Gajeel cut across the street, his usual scowl firmly in place to ward off anyone foolish enough to get in his way. Magnolia proper or the Alleys, he made no distinction between rich and poor when it came to fools blocking his path. And in his current mood, he'd find it surprising if he managed to reach the speakeasy without driving someone into a wall or into the path of a passing automobile. Around him the afternoon was sunny and almost unusually warm for the time of year, and in response the city was bustling, but as usual, it gave him a headache more than it offered any form of joy or comfort.

"Hey, watch your step!" came the snap as he brushed past a loitering pedestrian, but he didn't heed the voice any attention, only kept on walking down the main street towards the market square where merchants and shoppers intermingled in a blur of colourful hats and the click of heels on pavement. It wasn't the inner city, but with all the people it was almost as bad, and all the different smells that clung to the square like fog was enough to make him sick.

Of course, having hated this part of town since he'd first been kicked off its clean streets as a kid, his opinion was perhaps a bit biased. But even if almost two decades had gone by since he'd first found himself alone and without a roof over his head, nothing had really changed. It didn't matter if he bootlegged for one of the richest men in the city, or that he _occasionally_ dressed the part of one of Makarov's employees – there was something about the inner city that repelled him. Although there weren't perhaps as many insults thrown his way when he wasn't looking like he'd just come our of a fight. Like now, when he'd put on a clean shirt and everything. And new trousers, because the old ones had gotten stained pretty badly in his last spar with Lily. And he knew he looked damn good – he wasn't bloody _ignorant_. But he wouldn't tell the old man that – not after he'd gotten lectured like a brat about what was _proper_ to wear around ladies. He should have told him that it wouldn't have mattered ten jewels what he put on – it was the one thing she hadn't made a comment on since he'd met her. His manners, yeah, and his attitude, but never how he dressed.

'Course, he'd assumed it was because she liked it, but even thinking along those lines made his brows furrow and anger flare somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. Stopping, he fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, before resuming his pace, his stride a touch more violent as he strode forward.

It had been a week. Seven days of forced politeness, and pretending things were dandy when they damn well were everything _but_. Seven days of avoiding thinking about his actions, not to mention her _reactions,_ and then to keep from bringing it up again. It was ridiculous, and it was pure torture and he was the one who'd brought it upon himself. He could have avoided it, had he had any sense in him. Had he had a sliver of mind to think of what might come of his actions he might have done differently. So he told himself, at least.

Although something told him he'd been damned already the day he'd first picked up her suitcase.

His scowl darkened as he cut across the square, manoeuvring through the people scuffling to and fro before he ducked into a side-street and into what was widely known as the boundary to the Alleys, meaning it was practically deserted at this hour of the day. Most avoided it at all costs, although there were usually few problems in the daytime. It was the Alleys after dark that was the _real_ problem. Gajeel snorted at the thought of all the lunatics the fall of night brought crawling out of the gutters. If it hadn't been for the fact that Fairy Tail was located in the Alleys he doubted any of the fat-cats of the inner city would even have stepped foot in it. But Makarov ensured good protection for his customers. Not that he'd ever asked Gajeel for such a job, but he had many under his employment who offered safe passage through the streets after dark. Gajeel had his own jobs, and his own duties. At least he'd thought so, until he'd been handed an heiress of his own to babysit.

As the thought presented itself, his attention was drawn away from his surroundings and back to the reason for his dark mood. She might be a tiny thing, but she'd brought him more trouble in the short time he'd known her than the old man's lunatic son had brought him in the two years he'd worked for him. And that was saying something.

Of course, it wasn't all her fault. And to be completely fair, she hadn't made the first move, if you overlooked the public ogling and the fact that he'd been able to send her pulse hammering with just a simple touch. In fact, whichever way you looked at it, he had been the one to take the first step. And despite the fact that he wanted to pummel someone to release some of his anger, it wasn't that he regretted his decision. He'd always been an instinctive person, and made a habit of going with his gut. He might have had a little too much to drink, but he wasn't a man to blame the booze for his actions. It had been him, but it had been _her_ as well. She'd admitted as much, even if she'd followed it up with what might as well have been another slap to the face.

Glaring at nothing in particular, Gajeel trudged down the alleyway, making a sharp right turn – going by instinct rather than sight, but he knew the way practically in his sleep. He was on his way to pick her up for her second shooting lesson, and the memories of what had transpired last time almost had him regretting ever making that promise. After what had happened at the party, the thought of being cooped up in an abandoned warehouse, breaking by that fact alone more than a dozen social norms, not to mention breaching the propriety her class was so uptight about so violently they might as well have run it over with an automobile. Being as close as they'd been...he was surprised she hadn't called him on it and smacked him for even touching her, let alone pressing up against her back like a lecher. He doubted she'd ever been that close with a man. Hell, married couples from her circles probably had more distance between them. But the fact was that she hadn't shoved him away. Like she hadn't shoved him away in the alley that night. And even if she had basically told him it was never going to happen again, her reactions were what they were.

But things could've been worse. A lot worse. She might not have forgiven him, or she might have made a huge spectacle about it. If he'd been asked after just having met her, he'd have gone with the latter, chalking it solely up to her upbringing and the fact that she was probably nothing more than a privileged upper-class brat. Now...now he had no idea what to expect. She'd pulled the rug from underneath him a few too many times for his liking already – first with her shady motives, then her demand for him to teach her to fight, and then again in the alley when he'd clearly pushed his luck. And yeah, maybe he'd thought...

But it didn't matter. It was over, whatever it had been. Nipped at the bud, as the saying went. And she'd made it clear it wouldn't happen again, although he'd have had to be blind not to have seen the regret plastered all over her face. Shorty was many things, but a good liar wasn't one of them, and it had taken all his restraint not to repeat his actions in the hallway outside her room that night. Hell, if it could have convinced her otherwise, he might have, but she was a damn stubborn woman, and he figured if she'd made a choice, there was little anyone could do to persuade her to do differently.

Not to mention the way she'd flinched away from him had sobered him up like a bucket of cold water. And he was a good many things, too, but he wasn't that kind of bastard.

Stopping where the street split into two separate directions, Gajeel allowed himself to calm down. He was nearing the speakeasy and it would be a bad idea to greet her with his current temper. Knowing her she'd take the bait and then they'd argue, and he'd done his damnedest to avoid going _there_ for the past entire week. She was a bit of a spitfire when riled properly, and it was seven different kinds of distracting, and that was the last thing he needed on top of everything else.

"Something is bothering Gajeel," the soft voice spoke from behind him, and he jumped despite himself. Rounding on the small woman with a sharp curse, he was about to yell at her for sneaking up on him, but the worried look on her face had the remark halting on his tongue.

"What?" he growled in stead.

Juvia tilted her head to the side. "Gajeel is worrying Juvia," she said then, crossing her arms over her chest.

He snorted. "It ain't none of yer business."

She raised a brow. "Gajeel's happiness is important to Juvia."

He rolled his eyes. "Well I'm just peachy," he grumbled, before turning around to start walking again. She fell into step behind him, the click of her heels on the cobblestones barely detectable, even if she wasn't purposefully trying to be quiet. He didn't even think she paid it any mind at all – that was just how she was. But he guessed with people like her, it was difficult to forget the work when it wasn't required. It had surpassed being something you had to think about doing, and become something purely reflexive. Like breathing. He could practically feel her inquiring gaze, but didn't take the bait. Despite the fact that he trusted her with his life, he wasn't one for talking about his private business, although that had never stopped her from prying.

And this time didn't seem to be an exception.

"Has it got something to do with Miss Levy?" she asked, and the name made him visibly bristle, but he said nothing. Juvia hummed under her breath. "Juvia thought so."

"I didn't say it was."

"Juvia can still tell."

He didn't reply, and she didn't say anything more for a few moments – only kept on walking beside him. The afternoon sun had risen above the rooftops and its rays were making a slow crawl into the cramped side-streets and alleys. But no matter how high the sun stood in the sky, with the roofs and the layout of their part of the city, there would always be shadows in the Alleys. They hadn't walked long before they'd entered the familiar back-alley of Fairy Tail, and Gajeel ignored the thoughts that arose as he crossed the expanse of the yard and headed towards the entrance.

"Mister Lily says Gajeel is in denial."

He grumbled under his breath, feeling his eye twitch. "_Lily_ can mind his own business, too. The hell are you two conspiring for, anyway?" he grunted.

Her smile was demure. "Gajeel's happiness is also important to Mister Lily," she pointed out.

"Tch."

"And...Juvia believes Miss Levy is fond of Gajeel."

He sighed. "Woman–"

"And Gajeel is fond of Miss Levy," she continued, cutting him off. "Mister Lily told Juvia what happened–"

"That damn gossip–" Gajeel snapped, but his next words halted on his tongue when she suddenly placed a hand on his elbow. When her eyes met his, they were oddly serious.

"Mister Lily told _only_ Juvia," she emphasised.

He regarded her for a moment, then snorted, shrugging her hand off. "It's all dandy," he grumbled, although he knew it wouldn't satisfy her.

"Gajeel does not look 'dandy'."

"Well, too bad," he muttered as he began walking again.

Picking up her pace, she planted herself right in his path, arms crossed over her chest and a worried frown on her face. "Gajeel."

He stopped, growling, "_What_?"

She only looked at him, as though looking for something, and he felt the anger simmering in his stomach bubble to the surface. "The hell do you want me to do, Juvia? She ain't willing to let it go anywhere, so why the hell should I even bother?"

She raised a brow. "The Gajeel Juvia knows does not give up," she said then, and he inwardly cursed her for her ability to hit his pride where it actually _stung_.

"Damn it, woman–" he stopped himself, and took a breath. "It ain't that easy, alright? Shorty's got baggage, and she's determined to carry it all by herself – there ain't anythin' I can do about that," he grumbled.

She raised a brow at that, and then a smirk tugged at her lips. "Juvia has heard that a real gentleman takes a lady's bags without asking," she said then, before she turned around to walk towards the back door, leaving him standing in the middle of the alley. Opening the door, she paused with her hand on the handle. "Juvia just wishes to help – Gajeel should not take offence."

He snorted. "I always take offence," he retorted, and she smiled.

"Juvia knows."

He took another drag of his cigarette. She still hadn't moved from where she stood, and when she turned slightly, her eyes were troubled. His brow furrowed, recognising the look. "What've you got?" he asked. He knew that most of the information the old man had on what went on in the Alleys came from the woman before him, and he'd worked with her long enough to know that her current expression promised nothing but trouble. And a headache.

She didn't waste time beating around the bush. "Jose is not in a good mood," she said.

Gajeel snorted. "That loon's never in a good mood. What else?"

She gave him a sharp look. "Rumour's got it he's not happy with Gajeel."

"Still nothin' new," he retorted. "And he knows better than to go after me, anyway."

"But Gajeel is not alone anymore," she pointed out.

And damn it if she didn't have one hell of a point.

His brows furrowed as he considered her words. "Should I be worried?" he asked then.

A small smile quirked the corner of her mouth upwards, but her eyes were dark. "Gajeel should always be _careful_," she emphasised. "Miss Levy does not have the knowledge of the way things work in this world," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"I'll keep her out of it."

She regarded him closely. "Juvia has heard rumours," she said. "Miss Levy is in trouble, isn't she?"

A bloody understatement, but he wasn't about to elaborate. Even if he trusted Juvia, the less people who knew just how much trouble Shorty truly was, the better. So in stead he kept it simple.

"Yeah."

She nodded, and didn't ask for more, but then that was how things worked in their profession. "Gajeel will keep her safe?" It sounded like a question, but the look on her face made it seem more like a statement bordering on a threat. He snorted.

"It's my job, ain't it?" he asked.

She raised a brow at that, and now a smile really did tug her mouth upwards. "Is that all she is?" she asked, and even at his dark look, she dared to grin at him, the wench. She shook her head. "Juvia just wanted to let Gajeel know of the situation," she said then.

"Noted. I'll keep an eye out and a knife ready if the idiot tries to do something stupid."

She nodded, almost absently, and he regarded her for a moment – the hollowness to her eyes that had been there for as long as he'd known her had diminished a bit after Makarov had taken her in, but sometimes it was prone to come back. She hadn't had the easiest past – as was the norm in the Alleys. And though she was tougher than most, that didn't make her impenetrable.

"You holdin' up alright?" he asked, and her smile widened, her eyes crinkling at some distant thought. Most likely the idiot she'd gone and attached her heart to, although Gajeel had no idea why. A woman like her could have found someone much better than Fullbuster – someone who actually took notice of her and who didn't feel the need to drop his trousers every five minutes. But for some reason she was adamant in her choice, and he'd long since given up on trying to make her come to her senses.

"If he treats you bad I'll kill him," he reminded her, and she laughed, her smile brightening considerably despite the blatant threat. And she of all people knew that he didn't joke about things like that.

Inhaling deeply, she nodded. "I know," she said, and the almost imperceptible shift in her manner of addressing herself had his brows rising. She met his gaze again, and her eyes had a knowing look to them, as though she was privy to something secret, and he bristled slightly at the unnerving feeling. Then she grinned, and turned back to enter the speakeasy without another word, the door slamming shut behind her and leaving Gajeel standing in the alley with his thoughts and the smouldering remains of his cigarette.

And her words.

"_Juvia has heard that a real gentleman takes a lady's bags without asking."_

His brows furrowed as he turned them over in his head, considering the weight the carried. Then he snorted, and dropping his cigarette to the ground, he stomped it out with his boot, driving the flickering embers deep into the cobblestones. There was no denying the truth in her words – even _he_ could admit that much. There was only one problem with it.

He was no fucking gentleman.

* * *

Sometimes...Gajeel found he had a habit of making decisions that would turn around to slap him in the kisser. Like when he'd been a kid and found his Pop's favourite gun for the first time, or the time he'd gone after Makarov on Jose's behest. Bad decisions, both of them, and with equally bad consequences. And the same applied to his current predicament, where he found himself back in a dark abandoned warehouse with a woman he was already having trouble not imagining in various scandalous scenarios. And standing in front of him, holding a gun and with a concentrated furrow of her brows, was _not_ helping the situation. And it was all his own damn fault, too.

"Steady."

Levy huffed, and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes as she adjusted her feet and straightened her posture. Gajeel circled around her, nudging her tense shoulders to make them loosen a bit.

"Relax – you're so stiff it looks like you're about to keel over," he muttered as he placed a hand on her shoulder, applying enough pressure until she relented. She did so with a deep exhalation, and shook her head.

"Sorry."

He snorted. "Don't apologise – just do it. Now, aim."

Her small hands clutched the weapon in her hands – decidedly smaller than the last one he'd given her. He should have known it would be too heavy, but part of him had wanted to see if she could pull it off. 'Course, the one she had now suited her much better, and she had a good grip on it now that she'd adjusted to holding it.

"Now what?" she asked, the tone of her voice was an odd mixture of excitement and nervousness, and he stepped closer.

"You up for trying to shoot?" he asked as he took the gun from her. She inhaled sharply through her nose, but nodded firmly.

"Yes."

He gave her a long look, not disbelieving her certainty, but to make sure he wasn't pushing her too fast too soon. It was only their second lesson, and even if she'd showed progress, he knew it wasn't a rose-walk. He'd spent more years of his life than he was proud of in the deepest reaches of the criminal underworld and he'd seen some pretty bad stuff, but she'd grown up sheltered in an posh and delicate environment – seeing your old man shot before your eyes had to have left some pretty deep scars.

But the eyes staring back at him resolutely had little traces of doubt in them. Nervousness, perhaps, but that was to be expected. But she was as serious about learning to shoot now as she'd been that night when she'd all but demanded he teach her. Her small shoulders were squared, but where he'd used to see it as a haughty stance that only further served to portray her as a spoiled princess, now all he could see was fierce little woman with more strength than her small size suggested.

And if he'd wanted to push her against the wall in the alley that night for her sass, the urge to do so _now_ was near fucking overwhelming.

His expression betrayed nothing of what he thought, though, and without saying anything, he only nodded. Loaded, he handed her the weapon, watching as she accepted it with the care of a person who knew the damage it could do and who wasn't eager to unleash it by accident. Turning it over in her hands, she adjusted her grip, bringing her arms out and in front of herself. She hadn't held it loaded before – he'd made sure of that, if something were to happen. And even if he didn't think about the difference between an unloaded and a loaded gun as more than an inconvenience in a rough situation, he knew that for her, even one bullet had to make a world of difference.

She nodded then, almost to herself, and he watched with mild fascination as she repositioned herself. On the opposite wall a fresh coat of paint had been added to a faded target, and he heard her deep intake of breath as she took her aim. He stepped back and behind her, keeping his distance but staying close enough to intervene if something should happen. Considering what had happened during her first lesson, he wasn't about to take any chances now that the weapon was actually dangerous.

He saw her small shoulders tense, then relax, and despite himself he let his eyes rove down the gentle curve of her back, swathed as it was in a wispy sort of fabric, white and with the low waistline all the women seemed to be wearing these days. It was a flimsy thing, with no sleeves and cut short at the knees, showing of her pale arms and slender legs, and he was having increasing difficulties focusing on what she was doing, even if he really should. The warehouse wasn't particularly warm, and goosebumps had risen on her arms and up the back of her neck–

The sound of a gunshot ringing out through the room pulled him violently away from his unintended ogling, and only sheer and utter instinct made him step forward to steady her when the recoil sent her stumbling. Catching her around the waist, he held her up as she regained her footing, and when he let her go – his hand lingering against the curve of her hip longer than what was appropriate in any setting outside the bedroom – she looked almost as surprised as he did.

On the far wall, the bullet had lodged itself into the concrete – not at the actual target, mind you, but close enough that he was a little impressed. From beside him, Levy let out a sound of triumph, and when she turned towards him her eyes were shining. "I did it!"

Gajeel smirked. "Ya missed," he corrected, because he was himself, and if he'd praised her she'd have thought he was mocking her.

She rolled her eyes. "I still did it, and it didn't shoot you in the foot," she pointed out with a wry quirk of the lips as she held out the gun for him to take.

"Well if that ain't a cause for celebration," he retorted, and she rolled her eyes, but the pleased smile on her face was hard to remove. Exhaling deeply, she turned her gaze back to the wall across the room. Gajeel had been about to hand the gun back to her, but something about her stance had him stopping.

"It's lodged pretty deep," she said then, looking at the bullet-hole. He didn't respond, knowing she wasn't really speaking to him by the absent look to her eyes. "To a living being...how can someone point a gun at another human being and just...knowing what it does, how can they _bear_ it?"

Her voice didn't break as she spoke, like it perhaps should have. There was just a strange sort of curiosity to it that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. When he didn't answer, she turned towards him, and her eyes were almost hollow as they met his.

"I just...don't understand," she said, and then the despair was clear on her face, her composure cracking as her thoughts no doubt evoked memories she'd tried to keep buried. But she didn't cry, and somehow that made it worse. To be frank, he hadn't seen her cry since the day he'd met her, and he had a feeling that had been more his fault than the death of her old man. He had little knowledge of how to properly handle grief – he had his own ways, but then he'd grown up on the streets. You didn't sit down and have a good cry when your reality was solely about trying to make it from day to day. But Shorty wasn't from his world – he'd reminded her of that on more than one occasion. He wondered if she'd actually taken the time to process the situation she was in, other than her choice to seek out Makarov and her personal vendetta against the man who'd taken everything from her. But he wasn't one for comforting, so in stead, he said the thing that felt most natural.

He snorted. "Not getting how ya can shoot someone in cold blood ain't a fault, Shorty," he said then, and he had no idea what made him do it, but suddenly his hand was on the crown of her head, and his fingers were tangling in the loose curls Blondie was constantly trying to keep in place with that heated iron of hers. She startled visibly at the gesture, and seemed to snap out of whatever hold her thoughts had had on her, but she made no move to push him away.

He smirked, and gave her hair a ruffle for good measure. "It just means ya ain't corrupt, like most of the scum crawling the gutters of this city."

He pulled his hand back before she could say something about the breach of propriety. For once her gaze was strangely unreadable, but the light was back to them. Remembering the gun in his hands, Gajeel held it up in a silent question. She shook her head, and he nodded before pocketing it.

"Ya did good," he said then, and her eyes widened a little in surprise, before a smile blossomed on her face.

"Thank you," she murmured, gloved hands clasped in front of her, and something passed across her face that made her look like she wanted to continue. He raised a inquisitive brow, and waited for her to speak. But she only shook her head, averting her gaze to the floor, and a nervous silence seemed to settle between them. Gajeel felt his hands twitch, and he cleared his throat.

"So...about time to head back?" he asked. She nodded, almost absently, before she turned to follow him. The click of her heels was loud on the concrete floor, and it caused a hollow echo throughout the room that only served to underline the severity of her words and the tension that had settled between them, and for once Gajeel actually found himself looking forward to the crowded speakeasy and the easy atmosphere it promised. It was a hell of an improvement from where they were now.

He held the door open for her as they stepped out, and refused to think about how he'd never used to do things like that before he'd met her. Lily, of course, would have had a good laugh at his expense if he knew, and Gajeel made a point not to let his friend ever see him do such a thing. At first, Shorty had found his behaviour suspicious, but now she seemed almost used to it.

He didn't want to think about the implications of _that_, either.

The clank of the doors as he closed them made her jump slightly, and he felt a smirk tug at his lips as he secured the lock. When he turned around, she was waiting for him on the pavement, her hands fiddling with the sleeve of her loose coat. She'd put on a snug hat – like the ones Juvia liked to wear – and the brim shielded her eyes from him, as well as her hair. He had to credit her on keeping a low profile – they hadn't had any trouble with anyone coming after her, but he figured being careful wasn't hurting the situation.

"Ready to go?" he asked gruffly as he came up to her, and she nodded, falling into step beside him as he made for the speakeasy.

It was later than he'd counted on. The sun had not yet set completely, but in the Alleys with its narrow streets and cramped buildings, it always turned darker earlier than in the better parts of Magnolia. There was a chill to the air that hadn't been there earlier, too, but that was to be expected so late in the year. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he sneaked a glance at the strangely subdued woman at his side. She continued to fiddle with the hem of her sleeve, and he had the feeling she wanted to say something.

His brows furrowed as he noticed the slight tremble to her hands, and that her breath was visible in the air before her. "You cold?" he asked then, and grimaced at how...awkward the comment sounded, coming from him. She looked up at him then, her eyes blinking, as surprised at the comment as he was. He shrugged at her questioning look. "Your jacket ain't much, and I don't need mine," he said then, and felt his eyes twitch, feeling incredibly awkward for having to explain what he'd hoped she'd catch on to without him having to actually _say_ it.

She blinked again, but then a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Are you offering me your jacket, Gajeel?" she asked, and he grumbled under his breath. Of course she'd mock him for it – he'd wandered into that trap willingly, but–

"I'd like to, if it's alright," she said then, cutting him off mid-thought, and he stopped in his tracks. She smiled. "It _is_ cold, and I hadn't considered that when we walked out earlier," she said with a shrug, and when he looked at her he found no trace of mockery in her eyes. Only honesty, and something else he couldn't quite place.

He didn't say anything as he shrugged out of his jacket, and in a moment of impulsiveness, dropped it over her shoulders in stead of handing it to her, as was proper. She startled at the gesture, and blinked up at him. He put his hands back into his pockets and smirked.

"Make sure the hem doesn't drag in the dirt – it's new," he said, and she blinked, before a wry smile tugged at her lips. It was a joke, of course. The hem reached just above her knees, but he couldn't seem to get tired of teasing her about her short stature.

"Duly noted," she muttered as she tugged the jacket closer, and Gajeel turned his gaze away, trying hard not to dwell on the thought of her in his clothes. An almost...possessive feeling seemed to unfurl at the thought, and despite himself he felt oddly satisfied. Grumbling under his breath, he shook his head at his own thoughts, and picked up his pace, although he kept an eye to make sure she could keep up.

They'd walked another few paces before she seemed to gather up enough courage to breach whatever it was that was bothering her. They'd rounded a corner into an even narrower path – a shortcut that would take them to Fairy Tail faster and without having to walk through the red-light district up ahead. It wasn't recommended, walking through the narrower paths after dark, but the alternative being what it was, Gajeel would take his chances. If he could help it, he'd keep her away from _those_ parts of the Alleys. He knew she'd adapted well to her new life, but part of him – a part he had as little comprehension for as the one that had wanted to hand her his jacket – wanted to keep her as far away as possible from the most tainted places of his world. And where he'd first seen her innocence as something ridiculous – something that would be tarnished soon enough – now he could think of little but how to keep it from being tarnished.

A small hand on his elbow pulled him out of his thoughts, and he stopped, part of him knowing they should get through as quickly as possible, but when he met her eyes he found himself rendered completely unable to do anything but stare. There was a determined light to them, and her brows were set with a purpose that had his shooting into his hairline. She inhaled deeply, then nodded to herself as if making a decision, and he couldn't help the jolt that shot through him as he considered what she was about to say.

Had she changed her mind?

"I've been thinking–" she began.

"Dangerous business, for a woman," a voice cut her off, and she startled, her head whipping around to the darkened shadows further down the alley. Gajeel muttered a curse under his breath at having been caught so off guard. Following her gaze, his eyes took in the cramped backstreet for any sign of their new company. He didn't have to search long, though, for the idiot seemed intent on revealing himself, anyway. Stepping out of the shadows, hands stuffed in his pockets and with an arrogance that could only come from one place, the lanky man stopped in front of them. He wasn't much to look at – skinny for a street thug, and with a severely crooked nose that made him look slightly ridiculous. Gajeel didn't recognize him, but that didn't mean he hadn't met the guy before.

"Well, well. Is this what he's reduced you to? A private escort for fine _ladies_?" Mockery was heavy in his tone as he spoke, and Gajeel felt his brows furrow at his words. Going by the nose, he could have been someone he'd humiliated in the ring, but the way he spoke confirmed his initial suspicions.

"You one of Jose's boys?" It was more of a statement than a question – his entire posture reeked of the arrogance Jose so encouraged in his underlings, there really was no question. And after what Juvia had said earlier, he should perhaps have seen it coming.

Straightening his shoulders, he angled himself so as to shield the woman beside him. The action didn't go unnoticed, however, and the man before him quirked a condescending smile. "Such a loyal lapdog," he sneered, taking a drag of the cigarette between his fingers, before slowly exhaling a plume of smoke. The gesture was meant to be mocking, Gajeel knew. To show he was barely taking him seriously – that he was comfortable enough to have a smoke and a dandy chat.

Tch. Arrogant bastard.

"I'd heard rumours about you," he began then, almost lazily. "Gajeel Redfox. One of Jose's most dangerous men." He tilted his head, making a show of considering his opponent. "I wonder if they weren't perhaps a bit exaggerated?"

Gajeel snorted, finding his theatrics as ridiculous as the master he'd no doubt learned them from. "Don't believe everything you hear," he said, his mind turning over their options as he considered the safest way out of the mess the idiot was no doubt prepared to make. Jose's goons had a habit of making things so damn dramatic, it was ridiculous, and had he been alone he'd have had him strung by his ankles from the nearest clothesline without much effort. But Juvia had been right before – he wasn't alone, and it complicated things more than he'd thought. He needed to get her away, and before he found out how he was going to accomplish that particular feat, he was going to have to keep the bastard talking.

"Did he send you, then?" he asked, letting just the right amount of snide mockery slip into his tone. "Too high and mighty to do his own handiwork these days?"

The bastard snorted, but didn't take the bait, which meant he wasn't one of Jose's foolhardy rookies who'd spring at the first insult to their boss.

And that _really_ complicated things.

"Hardly. He doesn't have time to deal with the likes of traitors like you," he said in stead, and a sliver of anger slipped into his attempted casualness. Despite the situation being decidedly worse than he'd first figured, Gajeel raised a condescending brow.

"So you came after me on your own? What, hoping to score a few points with the Big Cheese?"

The man's responding smile was a languid curdle of the lips. "You mean like _you_ did, when you went after Makarov Dreyar?" he retorted. Gajeel's brows furrowed, and he was acutely aware of the small form pressing itself into his back. Levy said nothing, but her shallow breaths betrayed her attempted calm, and he wondered how he could get her out before the idiot in front of him did something stupid.

"Unlike you, of course. I plan to succeed," the bastard said then, his smile a white gleam in the surrounding shadows, and Gajeel considered what would be quicker – the knife in his boot or the gun in his pocket. "But," he continued, his words a slow crawl, and Gajeel stiffened as he caught him reaching into his jacket.

"It seems I might have to dispose of your little pet, first."

He'd felt Levy stiffen against him at the sight of the weapon, and he cursed under his breath.

_Fuck_.

The bastard smiled, and Gajeel snorted, adjusting his stance so he knew she was completely covered. Her small form was almost shockingly warm against his back – a sharp contrast to the cold evening air. The contact made him remember her earlier words about the damage a gunshot could do to a human being, and he felt a startling surge of anger and something his brain recognized as fear at the thought of what a bullet would do to _her._

"You'd have to get through me first," he growled, and he felt her startle against him at the force in his words – the stark promise that held such conviction it would have surprised Gajeel himself if he hadn't been so damn angry.

Jose's lackey only snorted at the challenge. "Hardly," he said, and just as he'd uttered the word, Gajeel caught the barely perceptible tread of a soft-soled shoe behind him, just before the tell-tale 'click' of a loaded weapon. Panic surged through him, chilling him to his marrow, and before he had a chance to think, he'd whirled around, hands reaching for the small form huddled close to his and pushing it down to the cobblestones just as the sound of a gunshot rang out through the street, the sound deafening at such a short distance.

Warmth spread from his midsection, and his vision swam suddenly and startlingly out of focus. His ears rang with the force of the gunshot, and he staggered as a sharp, blinding pain shot through his system, searing like fire and numbing his limbs. And through the sudden haze, another sound cut the air like a knife, piercing his ears and echoing hollowly in the shadows of the alley.

"_**Gajeel!"**_

* * *

AN: *evil giggle*


	12. sockdollager

AN: So by your responses I imagine the cliffy wasn't as much fun for you guys as it was for me? No? Oh, well – I'll just hope this chapter makes up for it then! Unless Gajeel dies or something, but I wouldn't do that, would I? Hohoho~~

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XII**

It was a testament to her quick thinking that he didn't go down with her.

She felt more than saw the bullet hit him – sensed the way his body recoiled at the impact, even as he pushed her down to the cobbled street. The action was anything but gentle, and she hissed through her teeth as her knees came in contact with the rough stones, but the pain was forgotten a split second later, driven away along with her momentary panic and replaced with a gut-wrenching fear that had her mind careening back to the last time she'd seen someone shot before her eyes.

She heard herself scream, his name torn from her throat and slicing the air with such vicious desperation it made her own ears ring with the sheer force of it. But she found that, beyond the devastating panic that welled up in her chest, her grasp of her own sanity remained surprisingly intact. A few weeks ago, she might have been reduced to blabbering hysterics; she might have curled in on herself in a sobbing mess and surrendered to the fate that had crashed down upon her. But that was before she'd watched her father's body rebound from the impact of the bullet that stole his life; before she'd watched his blood stain the soft beige carpets of the dining room they'd had such a nice dinner in earlier the same day. And Levy didn't know if her mind was trying to shut out her emotions or if it had simply adapted to the thought of death to the point where it made no further impact on her, because her mind was startlingly clear and her body responded to its next command without preamble.

Her hand curled around the gun in the pocket of his jacket, still hanging loosely from her shoulders. The hem had been dragged in the dirt – the thought sprung forward unbidden, and had the situation been anything else, she might have laughed at the absurdity. But she didn't, because as she rose to her feet to support him, slipping under his arm and taking on as much of his weight as she could handle, the slick feel of his blood against her hands drove any thoughts of humour from her mind. She heard him utter a string of expletives that would have made her blush in another setting, but now she simply drew comfort from the fact that he was alert enough to curse. It was the quiet she dreaded; the eerie stillness she remembered from the first frantic moments at the side of her father's body, before the reality of the situation had dawned on her.

She pushed the thoughts away, as resolute as she'd ever been as she extracted the weapon from the pocket of his jacket. His body was heavy as he leaned his weight on her, and in the dark of the alleyway she doubted the two men could see the exchange.

Seconds had passed since the man had pulled his gun on them, and when she looked back on it, she'd marvel at her own quick actions. Before either man had had the chance to aim another shot, she pushed the gun into his hand. It was still loaded after her lesson – the thought had leaped out at her the second he'd pushed her down and her mind had made a frantic grapple for a way out. How many bullets, she had no way of knowing, but even one was better than nothing. He must have been thinking along the same lines, because there wasn't a hint of hesitation in his actions as his fingers closed around hers.

What happened next was a blur. One moment she'd had the gun in her hands, pushing it into his, and then he pulled her close so fast she almost lost her footing. And despite the situation she blushed as her face was quite suddenly muffled by his shirt, her vision obscured completely from what went on around them, and his free arm had just closed around her head when she realized what he was do–

The next two gunshots came in quick succession – both muffled from where her face was buried into his damp shirt, but the force of them sent a shudder through his large frame and into hers, and she squeezed her eyes shut despite the fact that she couldn't see a thing. Her heart was in her throat and she didn't even dare to breathe in the near deafening silence that followed.

Then the soft slump of bodies against pavement reached her covered ears, but she didn't move from where he had her pressed against him. It wasn't until his grip slackened that she felt panic surge through her, and she caught him as he staggered, his knee hitting the cobblestones as he attempted to cushion his fall and a curse pulling free from his lips.

"Gajeel!"

He hissed through his teeth, one bloodied hand at his left side, covering the wound. She knelt by him, reaching out even if she had no idea what to do. Her hands were covered in blood, but the thought hardly phased her as she pushed his fingers away to get a better look. She didn't bother to check if there were anyone else around them, knowing that he would not have succumbed to his injury unless the coast was clear. Pulling his jacket off her shoulders, she pushed it against his side to stop the flow of blood, finding it the most sensible thing to do despite her absolute lack of knowledge with such things. Pressing her hands against it to put pressure on the wound, she heard his grumbled complaint as the blood soaked the fabric.

"Bloody thing was new and everythin'."

She pulled in a breath, his joke like a slap. Of course he was prone to jest in such a situation – she was hardly surprised, but that didn't mean she had to accept it. "We need to get you medical help. Which way is the quickest to Fairy–"

"Too damn far," he muttered, cutting her off, and before she could stop him he rose to stand, only to stumble immediately after. She shot to her feet to steady him, slipping under his arm, and the weight nearly had them both falling over, but she clenched her jaws and pushed them both upright.

"Gajeel, I need to get you to Fairy Tail," she emphasised, but he only shook his head, and before she could protest more – the stubborn man! – he'd begun walking back the way they'd come, all but dragging her with him.

"Gajeel!"

"You gonna help me or are you gonna let me bleed to death?" he snapped. "I know a place nearby, so stop yappin'."

She felt anger bubble in her chest, mingling with the fear that had lodged itself there, and she wanted to yell at him. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs and give him a proper earful of what _exactly_ she thought about his reckless behaviour and obvious disregard for his own safety. But part of her knew he'd just scoff at her and tell her it was his damn job and that what the hell was he there for if not to protect her, so she pushed her anger and her fear and her _hurt _as far back as she could, because how could she tell him that she didn't want to be just a _job?_ She was the one who'd pushed him away – she'd rejected his advances, and this was her reward. She wasn't his wife or even his lover; had she been either, she could have yelled at him for being an idiot.

But she was neither. She _was_ his job, and she had no right to be angry with him for doing what he'd been hired to do.

So instead of giving him a piece of her mind, to let him know just how scared she'd been when the gunshot had rung out through the street and that his recoiling from it had felt as though she'd been shot herself, Levy forced herself to be calm. Inhaling deeply, she adjusted her footing.

"Which way?"

He limped ahead of her, and she pushed herself up and under his arm. His grip around her shoulders was uncomfortably tight, and she tried to ignore how the blood seemed to seep through the jacket at an alarming pace. "To the right, then the left," he hissed through his teeth, inhaling sharply. "Then the entryway through the fence – you'll see it when we get there."

She nodded, and tried not to jostle him too much as they walked. She also tried to ignore the slumped body they had to step around on their way out of the alley. The man who'd pulled the gun on them, lying face down into the gutter at the mouth of the alley with a pool of blood forming under him. She turned her gaze on the road ahead in stead, following Gajeel's directions, taking them first a little ways up the opposite way they had come, before veering to the left into what she'd thought was just a dead end, but turned out to be an obscured passage.

Muffled laughter reached her ears, and as they passed under an open window, the heady smells that could only belong to a brothel seemed to seep out into the night, mingling with the stench of rainwater and sewage. Light spilled into the street in some places, but the shadows that clung to the walls tried their best to swallow it up, casting most of their way ahead in complete darkness, and she prayed softly to herself that they wouldn't meet more trouble on their way. She didn't know where they were going, but with Gajeel in his current state, she wasn't very keen on the thought of running into more thugs. She had no idea where the gun had gone, nor if he had any other weapons. And even if he did, she had no idea how to make use of them.

Her brows set in a determined frown as she came to the decision that she wouldn't run away or hide behind him, if they were apprehended. She'd claw with her own hands and kick and scream if she had to, but there was no chance she was going to let him exert himself to rescue _her_ when he could barely stand.

"And now?" she asked as they came to the end of the street.

"Fence," he bit out, and she searched it out, frowning as they stepped closer. She didn't have much time to consider how they were going to get over it before he aimed a kick at the wooden boards, sending a connected panel swinging inwards. He nearly doubled over in the effort, and she bit down on her lip as she struggled to keep him upright.

She didn't hesitate as she started forward, pushing the panel open with her hip as she helped ease him through, before letting the hidden door slide back into place. What greeted them was a long stretch of narrow, winding street, dark and without a single trace of light, but Gajeel seemed confident on where they were going and so she offered her support as he stalked forward.

She wouldn't have seen the door if he hadn't stopped in front of it, so hidden was it amongst the bricks of the ramshackle building, and she watched in fascination as he raised a clenched fist to level a few sharp raps on the sturdy wood, followed by a cryptic growl of, "Hag! 'S Gajeel – open up!"

Levy said nothing, only shifted her stance a little to ease the weight across her shoulders, and he grumbled an apology that would have made her smile if they hadn't been standing in the complete dark in a strange, seemingly abandoned alleyway outside a door to a place housing who knew what kind of shady characters. They would have to be, to dwell in such a remote place. Even in the Alleys, for something to be hidden this way...

She didn't even want to think about what kind of business these people ran that required that kind of discretion.

"Oye!" Another pound, followed by a curse as he all but doubled over. Levy was wondering if there was anyone home at all when the sound of a latch sliding away reached her ears, and she watched with bated breath as the door swung open before them.

"It's _late,"_ a voice all but growled from the inside, and Levy blinked as the owner stepped into the open doorway, spilling light into the street and over the two of them. Despite the gravelly voice it was most definitely a woman. She was tall, and had a sour face and wrinkles between her eyes and on the sides of her down-turned lips that spoke of a perpetual glower. Her hair – glaringly pink as Natsu's – was pulled up into a severe knot, and her burgundy eyes alluded a fierceness that her age had apparently not lessened. Her gaze swept across the two of them, before they settled on Gajeel, and then on the bloodied hand pressed against his side.

"What trouble have you gotten yourself into _now_, brat?" she snapped, and Levy flinched at her harsh tone. Gajeel only rolled his eyes.

"Does it bloody matter?" he growled. "I need the bullet removed."

She sniffed. "Not much of a request_._ Makarov still not taught you any manners?"

"Damn it, hag! Are ya gonna do it or not?!"

She raised a brow, and seemed about to say something else when Levy spoke up, surprising them all. "Please just help him," she blurted, and the woman's dark gaze left Gajeel to land squarely on her, challenge clear in her stance and her look. Levy swallowed.

"He was shot protecting me – it's _my_ fault. Please, can you help?" Her scrutiny was making her uncomfortable, and she tried not to fidget under the intense stare.

Then she snorted, and motioned with her head. "Get inside," she snapped as she turned on her heel. Levy breathed a sigh of relief before she followed suit, tugging Gajeel with her. He said nothing, but she caught a muffled curse as he bent down to enter the doorway, and she bit her lip as she felt him stiffen against her.

"Come on," she murmured as she pushed them both forward and into the house. They were in a dimly lit hallway, but she could see more light spill out of an open doorway further down, and the smell of food cooking reached her nose just as the woman's rough voice drifted back to them from somewhere further in.

"Go lock the door after them, and fill a bucket with water to clean up the mess he's leaving in my hallway," she snapped, and the shuffle of feet answered her request, before a small shape materialised before them – a young girl with dark hair and big brown eyes. She blinked at the sight of them, before her expressive eyes landed on Gajeel, and concern flitted across her features.

"What happened?" she asked, stepping forward, before the voice from the kitchen had her jumping.

"The door, Wendy!"

She smiled sheepishly, before scuttling past them to put the latch back on the front door. Levy barely had time to blink before she was pushing past them again, this time on Gajeel's right side as she helped Levy get him into the lit room.

It wasn't a very spacious kitchen, but it was warm and homely, and the smell of stew had Levy's stomach rumbling despite herself, and she blushed, hoping no one had heard. She could swear she heard Gajeel snort, but ignored it as she helped him across the room to the door that stood ajar and waiting for them.

"Help me get him in there," the dark haired girl said. "Porlyusica is getting her things ready," she explained, and Levy only nodded, not knowing what else to do. Nudging the door open with her free shoulder, she helped the girl get Gajeel to the bed pushed against the far wall. On the other side of the room, the woman was preparing what Levy recognized as various medical equipment, muttering under her breath about people interrupting other people's supper at inopportune moments. Turning towards them, she eyed Levy, before her gaze settled on the girl.

"Get something sharp for the idiot to numb the pain – the scotch is in the lower cabinet. And make a pot of tea for the girl – she looks like she's about to faint, she's shaking like a damn leaf," she snapped.

Levy startled at her reprimand thrown her way, and realized that she was, in fact, shaking quite violently. Her hands trembled now that they weren't supporting Gajeel, and she clenched them together to still them. Her efforts helped little.

"Well?"

She looked up to find the woman glaring at her, and blinked. Porlyusica snorted, and Levy realized that Gajeel was in the process of removing his shirt. "Want to stay to enjoy the show?" she asked scathingly, and Levy blushed furiously, ducking her head as she avoided Gajeel's gaze. The woman rolled her eyes.

"Got yourself a prude, brat? Wouldn't have pegged her for your type," she grumbled, and Levy's mouth dropped open even as Gajeel snorted a laugh. She was about to retort that she wasn't a prude when there was a small hand on her elbow, and she looked down to see the girl smile up at her. There was a glass of something dark in her hand, which she passed to the woman.

"Would you like some tea while she works?" she asked, but her look told Levy she didn't have much of a choice, and she only nodded numbly as she let herself be herded back into the kitchen, only managing to throw one last look over her shoulder at the man propped against the wall. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, his expression strangely unreadable–

–and then the door closed between them, effectively shutting her out. She strained her ears for the low rumble of his voice, but couldn't make it out through the thick slab of wood, and she wrung her still-trembling hands in front of her, and felt quite suddenly and startlingly that she might, in fact, faint.

The girl was at her side then, small hands guiding her into a nearby chair by the table, and Levy sank into it with a shuddering sigh. A second later there was a bowl of something steaming set before her, and two empty cups, and she looked up in time to see the girl pour warm water into a worn teapot. Lifting her eyes, she smiled at Levy. "Would you like some honey in your tea?" she asked, and she only nodded, feeling strangely numb. As though she hadn't just spent the past half-hour dragging Gajeel's weight through the dark streets of the Alleys and was now calmly having tea with a strange girl she'd never met, while he was being stitched up by a woman who made Lucy's grouchy old governess look like a ray of sunshine.

She felt a headache pressing against her skull, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the girl was pouring tea into the cups. "I'm Wendy," she introduced herself, and gave Levy another smile.

Despite everything, she found herself returning it. "Levy," she said simply. The girl grinned.

"I know. I've heard about you – you're Gajeel's girl," she said, as she handed her a steaming cup. Levy snorted, but caught herself, and her cheeks warmed with a blush.

"I'm just his job," she said, her tongue suddenly thick in her mouth. "Makarov assigned him to protect me." And even as she said the words, the stab of guilt was barbed as it cut through her, and she fought the bile from rising in her throat. Sneaking a glance towards the door, she wondered what was happening on the other side.

As though sensing her line of thought, the girl spoke, "He'll be fine, you know. This isn't the first time he's come here like this. Although it's been a while," she explained, and Levy only shook her head. She shouldn't be surprised – hadn't he stated, more than once, how dangerous his world was? And his job?

She drew a shuddering breath. "Has it...has it been _worse?"_ she asked then. The girl scrunched her nose up, as though contemplating this.

"Maybe once. He'd been shot twice then, but they were pretty shallow wounds," she said with a shrug.

Levy nodded, as though they were discussing something normal, and not people being shot. "And...are you- is _she_ a doctor then?" she asked.

The girl – Wendy, was it? – smiled. "She is."

"Your mother, then?"

She laughed, as though this was amusing. "No, but...in a way, I guess she's the closest thing I've got. She took me in when I lost my mother."

Levy's eyes softened at her words. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Don't be – I'm happy. Compared to most kids in this part of town, I was lucky."

Levy nodded. There were a lot of of orphaned children on the streets of Magnolia, but they weren't allowed into the inner city, so she hadn't been aware of how many actually needed roofs over their heads until she'd seen it with her own eyes. And contrary to what the impression many had of Makarov, he couldn't adopt every child that wandered onto his doorstep. Levy realized that _she'd_ been lucky, too. Like Wendy. To have someone to take her in when she had nothing.

She knew Gajeel hadn't been so lucky. He hadn't spoken much of his childhood save a few muttered comments and a few hints dropped here and there, but something told her the city hadn't been kind to him.

"Would you like me to get you some warm water to wash up with?"

The soft question made her look up from her cup, and she blinked, her brows pulling down into a frown. Wendy only looked at her, and suddenly the thought struck Levy that she probably didn't look too good. A quick glance at herself confirmed her suspicions. Her white dress – the new one Lucy had just gotten her – was soaked brown in drying blood, and she blinked as she finally took notice of her hands, which were much in the same state. Raising her eyes back to Wendy, she found the girl was already preparing a small basin of warm water, and felt suddenly embarrassed.

Hefting the basin into her hands, the dark haired girl placed it on the table before her, along with a soft cloth to wash her hands. "Here you go," she chirped.

"Thank you," Levy murmured, taking the cloth and dipping it in the warm water. Wendy smiled as she seated herself.

Wringing the fabric, Levy began to scrub her hands clean, although her eyes kept drifting back to the girl watching her from the chair opposite. She couldn't be more than fourteen at most, but her large brown eyes had a look to them of someone much older. She wore a simple blue dress with a white apron, and her hair was secured at her neck, a low ponytail spilling down her back.

"So," she began, as she wrung the cloth in the warm water, and tried to ignore the nausea that rose as the clear liquid bled a startling red. Turning her eyes on the girl, she swallowed her bile. "Are you training to be a doctor as well?"

There weren't many female medical practitioners in Magnolia. Nurses, maybe, but Levy had always found it to be a very male-dominated profession. But the dwellers of the Alleys seemed to run their own business, anyways, so what did she really know of what went on in the shadows of the city? And the woman had mentioned Makarov, which meant she probably had some connection with Fairy Tail. And women of Fairy Tail, Levy had learned, did whatever they damn well pleased.

Wendy smiled, nodding. "I'm still very much in training, but I'm hoping to take over Porlyusica's practice someday," she said with a shrug. "It was my mother's."

Levy turned the soaked rag over in her hands, nodding to herself. There were no sounds coming from the room Gajeel was in, and she wondered whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He'd barely made a single complaint about the wound other than a muttered curse on the way over, and he'd treated it much the same was as one would treat a nick in the finger. Which was ridiculous, but then Levy had learned early in their acquaintance that he was an incredibly stubborn man. But the silence unnerved her, and she clenched her hands to keep them from trembling. Putting the cloth back down, she reached for the bowl of stew, feeling her stomach grumble in eager response. Inhaling the smell of it, she willed her thoughts away from the man on the other side of the door, focusing it in stead of the food in front of her.

"Would you like me to clean your dress for you?" Wendy asked then, and Levy blinked, before she shook her head.

"It's a bit too late for that, I think," she said with a shrug, smoothing a hand over the once soft fabric. Now it was stiff and caked with blood, and she knew that no matter how much she scrubbed, it would never be white again. Wendy hummed under her breath, but didn't say anything else, and a comfortable silence settled between them in the small kitchen.

Levy nibbled at her stew, willing the food to settle her uneasy stomach. Thoughts of what had happened lurked on the edges of her conscious, and she'd tried hard to keep them at bay ever since she'd sat down to rest. Now, in the warmth of the kitchen and with her ruined dress and her raw hands, she felt the panic that should have struck her earlier finally make its presence known, bubbling up like a well – suddenly uncontrollable.

"Miss Levy? Are you alright?"

The kind voice was tinged with concern, and Levy swallowed, placing the bowl back onto the table as she suddenly rose from her seat. She didn't make it much further than that, though, before she had to bend over to be violently sick, making a grab for the basin as she did to keep from making a mess of the floor. Tears sprung to her eyes, running down the sides of her face as she heaved violently, suddenly regretting eating the little she had of the stew. There were warm hands on her back, pushing her back down onto the chair and sliding the basin into her lap, before they smoothed her hair out of her face. She coughed and heaved, and her throat burned at her stomach's rebellion, but the hands on her back smoothed slow, comforting circles, and she tried to direct her focus towards the warmth they provided and not the smell from the basin or her painful heaves.

"I'll get you some water," came the soft murmur, but she barely registered it as she leaned her head over the bowl in her lap. Her head pounded in rhythm with her heart, and she shivered all over, and though the kitchen was comfortably warm she felt cold to her marrow. And tired. She felt two seconds away from sliding off the chair she was sitting on.

The basin was removed and replaced with a cup of water, and she downed it without question, grimacing at the taste in her mouth. A small hand on her forehead pulled her blurred focus back to the room and the concerned brown eyes in front of her.

"Shock," Wendy said simply, peering into Levy's eyes, and she blinked them wearily. Taking the cup from her hands, the girl made for the cabinet across the room. "Would you like something a little sharper than water?" she asked, and Levy found herself nodding. She didn't say anything else, and it didn't take long before the cup was back in her hands, this time filled with a dark brown liquid. Later, she'd chalk it up to the shock, because she didn't even hesitate in downing it all in one go, grimacing at the taste but keeping from coughing it all up, as she almost had the first time she'd attempted the same.

"Would you like to lie down for a bit?"

The voice seemed far away, and she blinked, her head strangely foggy. She nodded, but stumbled as she tried to rise, and allowed herself to lean on Wendy as she was led out of the kitchen and back into the dim hall. Her head swam unpleasantly and the room seemed to tilt around her, and she hadn't taken many steps before her stomach roiled and she felt like being sick again. But before she could think any further there was a soft mattress at her back, and a warm blanket tucking snugly around her, and she sighed heavily as she let her body sink into the cot. A voice was saying something, but Levy wasn't paying attention as she allowed sleep to pull her down, and she was only dimly aware of a door closing and enveloping the room in darkness.

* * *

"–is out. Wasn't lodged deep. Missed anything vital..."

Darkness cocooned her, and she felt as if she was wrapped in a warm haze, muffling the voices that drifted out from the shadows.

"...gave him something sharp for the pain..."

A chair scraped against tiled floor, and the soft whistle of a kettle overlapped the sound, cutting through her sleep-muddled thoughts.

"...stubborn. Stupid, too..."

Opening her eyes, Levy grimaced at the pounding headache that greeted her, as well as the foul taste in her mouth. Awareness was slow in coming, and she attempted to wiggle her hands out of the nest of blankets she'd been tucked into. Around her, the room was pitch black, and the only source of light came from the slit below the door on the opposite wall, and from which she could hear soft voices drift in from the kitchen.

"...retching. Feverish..."

The _kitchen_. Wendy. And the woman – the 'hag'.

Thoughts leaped out at her at a rapid pace, and she scrambled to sit up, her mind filling with memories of blood and the ringing sound of gunshots, and she nearly stumbled out of the small cot in her attempt to free herself of the blankets. Her head swam, and she clutched the edge of the bed for support, breathing deeply through her nose. Shaking her head to clear it, she made her tentative way across the dark room. Her shoes had been removed, and she felt the cold floorboards beneath her feet where her stockings had been torn, but she found she cared little for modesty as she pushed the door open without hesitation.

The kitchen was softly lit with a few candles, and the smell of fresh tea wafted up from the pot the girl was preparing. On a chair by the table at the heart of the room the old woman sat, her frown as severe as it had been earlier, and her gaze was cutting as it shot up to meet Levy's.

"How is he?" she blurted out before she could check herself, or before any of them could open their mouths to speak.

The woman sniffed. "What are you doing out of bed?" she countered.

Levy pursed her lips, stepping further into the room. "I don't need to be in bed – I was not the one who was shot, and you didn't answer my question."

Wendy placed an extra cup on the table, but didn't say anything else as she busied herself with the tea. The woman seemed entirely unconcerned as she turned her eyes back to what she had been doing before Levy had walked in – darning a pair of socks. "The brat is fine. He's resting, and that is quite a feat for a man who refuses to stay down out of _principle_." The last word was uttered with a sneer. "Had to dose his drink to get him to sleep, but knowing him, he hasn't even touched it," she said, as calmly as if she'd just announced that the weather was nice and not that she was prone to drug her patients without their consent.

Levy felt worry war with the nausea in her stomach, and swallowed heavily. "But...he'll heal?"

The woman shot her a look that clearly asked if she was doubting her words, before she turned back to the needle in her hands. "That's what I said."

Levy nodded, and suddenly felt quite awkward, loitering in the doorway as she was. She shot a look towards the closed door on the other side of the kitchen. "Is...can I see him?" The words were strangely heavy in her mouth, and she felt as if she'd asked a very significant question.

And by the look the woman was giving her, maybe she had.

She fidgeted under the deep scrutiny, and tried not to let her worry show too clearly on her face. These people obviously knew Gajeel, and she'd wager a guess that they were more than a little familiar with Makarov, but as far as Levy knew, they had no idea of the situation, unless Gajeel had filled them in. Wendy had called her his 'girl', which implied she thought what everyone else seemed to be thinking. And at Levy's question of seeing him, they had to assume all sorts of things about their relationship. A pleased, almost possessive feeling rose in her chest at the thought, and if she hadn't been so busy trying not to let her emotions show they'd have both seen her mortification at her own thoughts slapped clearly on her face.

Finally, the old woman nodded towards the room. "As long as he doesn't over-exert himself, I see no harm in that." The underlying jibe didn't escape Levy, but that didn't mean she'd let it affect her.

So she simply nodded, and before she could lose her nerve, began her trek across the kitchen. She felt their eyes on her back, but kept her chin up and her head held high. She didn't care what they thought. She was just a concerned...she didn't even know _what_ she was. His job, evidently, but ever since that night in the alley when he'd almost kissed her there had been something in the air between them that spoke of something else. Something she'd been trying to keep at bay for the better part of a week, with little success.

"Girl."

The voice stopped her before she'd reached the door, and she looked to see the woman hold something out towards her. Frowning, she accepted it not without a little reluctance, her fingers closing around something smooth and cold. Turning it over in her hand, she found it was a small glass vial of some clear liquid, and when she looked up, her question clear in her eyes, the woman smirked. "He'd never accept it from me, but you look like a reasonably smart girl. If he's going to heal, he needs rest, and he ain't going to get that by staying awake out of sheer damn spite." Her request was evident, and Levy felt her fingers tighten around the vial before she slipped it into the pocket of the ruined skirt of her dress.

"There's a lamp by the door – use it if you need it," Porlyusica growled then, and Levy nodded her head in absent reply. Inhaling deeply, she steeled herself, fingers closing around the handle before she turned it to let herself inside. The old doctor's voice followed her.

"And tell 'im that if I catch him trying to light a gasper, I'll have his head!"

She let the door to the kitchen slip shut quietly behind her, cutting off the soft light that had momentarily spilled into the room. Cool darkness greeted her, and she blinked her eyes as they re-adjusted, all the while her hands fumbled to light the kerosene lamp sitting on the table by the door. The light it gave off wasn't much, but it cast the cramped room in a soft glow that allowed her eyes to see more than just dark looming shapes.

"You look like shit, Shorty."

The voice was little more than a rumble, but the fact that he had strength enough to make snide comments was a comfort if she'd ever known one, and she latched onto it with a desperation that would have startled her, had her relief not been quite so overwhelming. Raising her eyes from the lamp, she allowed them to settle on the form propped against the wall on the opposite side of the room. He slouched in his seat, a glass propped onto his knee, and in the quiet she could make out the ragged breathing that betrayed the pain he was no doubt trying to pass off as something trivial. His shirt was slung over his shoulders, unbuttoned, and she could see the gauze-wrapped evidence of the wound peek out from beneath the bloodied fabric. He was wide awake, unsurprisingly, and apart from the slight feverish look to his eyes, otherwise alert. His hair was out of its cord, she noticed, and strands of it clung to his forehead and the slick skin of his throat.

"Why aren't you asleep?" she asked, despite already knowing the answer.

He held up his glass. "Hag always tries to feed me this coffin varnish to put me to sleep. Ain't worked before; ain't gonna work now."

She knew her frown was reprimanding. "You _should_ be resting," she said, crossing her arms over her chest in hopes that he wouldn't see how her hands still trembled.

A snort was her reward. "The bullet's out, and I'm still alive. And I'm sitting down, ain't I?"

She rolled her eyes. Of course he'd be stubborn about recovery – he was _that_ kind of man. "Are...are you in any pain?" she asked then, biting her lip when her voice failed her.

Gajeel shrugged, the careless action a direct contradiction to the sweat on his brow, and she caught the way he flinched at the movement. "Scotch took the sting off it, but it's a gunshot wound – if it _doesn't_ hurt, I should be worried."

Levy shook her head, and when she exhaled her breath came out ragged. "You're too calm about this," she said, her voice was barely above a whisper.

He snorted. "Would it make ya feel better if I had a panic attack? Hell, Shorty, it ain't the first time," he muttered in reply. "I'd show ya the scars, but that would require removing more clothes than you'd be comfortable with." There was intended humour there, she could tell, but in stead of making her blush as had probably been his intention, it only made her sad.

"You joke, but I'm not finding it very funny."

He rolled his eyes. "You need a better sense of humour," he retorted, and the smugness in his voice was a bit more forced that it would have been if she'd taken the bait.

But she wasn't up for taking any bait. He could have died – bled to death in her arms in that dark, dingy alley, and even if the rational part of her was reminding her that it was his _job,_ that it was what bodyguards were supposed to do, her heart rebelled furiously against it, refusing to acknowledge the action as anything but reckless idiocy. How could she possibly explain how much the thought of losing him distressed her? Since her impromptu escape from her old life, she'd tried to distance herself from the people around her. First from Jet and Droy, when she'd left them, and then from Lucy when she hadn't even told her friend about her father's murder. She'd pushed them away because her one taste of losing someone close to her had left a terror so deep-rooted in her heart, she feared she'd never get over it. It was numbing, scorching and rendering her incapable to breathe, think, _act_...

But in her attempts at keeping them all at a distance, she had unwittingly let _him_ close. Despite her better judgement, despite their differences and their initial fierce dislike for each other, she had let herself foolishly fall in love with a man who courted danger and death with a grin and a jest. A man who'd take a bullet for her without question simply because he was required to. At first, she'd refused his advances on the sole principle that she had no time for romantic entanglements, and that she was probably not what he wanted in a woman. Now...now her thoughts seemed trivial. Petty, almost. Her choice hadn't given her anything but an aching heart, and it had done little to quell the slow burn that he'd invoked the first time he'd touched her with something other than professional intent.

"I'm sorry." The words tumbled off her tongue before she could stop them, and dropped between them like a weight. But even as they hung there, she couldn't bring herself to take them back.

"If you start spewing some crap about being sorry for getting me shot–"

"No," she cut him off, shaking her head. "No, that's...that's not what I'm sorry for."

And it wasn't. She'd known as well as him the dangers he was challenging when he'd agreed to protect her, but that didn't make the truth any harder to face. She had not counted on losing him. Not in the sense she had feared when his body had convulsed against hers as the bullet struck. When she'd first met him, cynically, she'd accounted for the possibility that he might lose his life, should someone come after her. Should Alexei decide she was better off dead than crawling the gutters of the Alleys. That first day she had considered the option, and deemed it a likely outcome without so much as batting an eye.

Now the thought made her want to be sick again.

She'd had nothing left when she'd met him. The books in her suitcase had been mere remnants of her father's extensive library, and other than the clothes on her back, they'd been the only things she'd had left of her old life. Then he'd elbowed his way into her existence, hands stuffed in his pockets and without any care whose heart in which he was making room for himself. And she found that, losing her home had been nothing. _Nothing_, compared to the thought of losing him. And she didn't think her heart could handle it, if she did. If she let him – if she allowed herself the luxury of gaining something that could be taken away...

"Do you want me to get you another drink? Sans medicine, this time," she said then, and her voice sounded hoarse as she spoke.

He didn't say anything, but held the glass out to her, and she took it, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she did. Moving across the room, she said nothing as she filled two fingers of scotch into the glass, and certain he couldn't see, slipped the vial out of her pocket and poured the liquid into the drink. Turning, she handed it back to him, and her heart constricted at the obvious trust in his actions as he downed the contents without question. The guilt was like a slap to the face, and she could only watch helplessly as he settled back against the wall.

"What's with the look?" he asked then, but she could not find the words to respond with. Could not express how he could drive her to sheer ruin with a simple act of trust. It was horrible – s_he_ was horrible. It might be a trivial thing – slipping him medicine to make him sleep when he was too stubborn to know what was good for him. He'd yell at her for it, yes, but he'd get over it.

She, however, would not. She knew that with the same clarity that she knew his death would be her undoing.

His eyes had slipped shut, and his head dropped to his chest, and her eyes softened as she stepped towards him. Slipping her hands under his arms, she eased him down onto the mattress, straining at the dead weight, and as carefully as she could, tried to arrange his large form without disturbing his wounded side. He was startlingly warm, even more so with the fever clinging to his skin, but even passed out he seemed to radiate strength and danger. The cot seemed almost small now with him sprawled on it, and she wondered idly how often he got sleep like this – the heavy, drug-induced doze that came with proper recuperation. Probably not very often, if he was as stubborn about it as Porlyusica had suggested. Pulling the thin cover over him, she rested her weight on the edge of the bed, her eyes softening as she took in the sight of him. And before she lost her nerve – before her sense got the better of her and herded her sanity back to where it should be, Levy McGarden did the single most daring thing she'd ever done.

Leaning down, her hand nestling at the fever-warm skin of his exposed throat, she brushed her lips against his. The action was nothing like what he'd have done in response, had he been awake, and she clamped her eyes shut at the thought that she couldn't let it come to that. Not again. _Never_ again.

"I'm sorry I can't be what you want," she murmured against his lips, her words soft in the stillness of the room. Tears pushed against her eyes, and she felt her throat constrict almost painfully as a sob nearly tore its way out.

Wiping the dampness from her eyes, Levy rose to her feet stiffly. Turning away from the cot with an almost rigid set to her shoulders, she refused to look at him as she made for the doorway, fingers still clutching the empty vial and regret a heavy stone in her heart.

Was it selfish, to protect herself in this way? She already had one death on her conscience, and the longing to avenge it was a perpetual taste on her tongue – bitter as blood. Her father slept a restless sleep, and his murderer basked in the glory of his hard-worked legacy, and here she was, dawdling in a foolish romance that would never work. She'd almost changed her mind – had been a breath away from telling him that maybe his advances were not entirely unwelcome.

And then the reality of her situation had made its presence known, pushing its way to the forefront of her mind in the shape of a street-thug with a weapon aimed to kill. Like a brutal wake-up call, the reasons for her choices had sprung forward to reclaim her attention.

"_I want to avenge my family." _

She inhaled a shuddering breath, her own words a stain on her mind as she thought back to the night she had spoken them, and the reason behind their ferocity. She'd promised she'd see her father's name cleared, that she'd give him a proper burial, and that only then would she allow herself to surrender to the whims of her own heart. But the thought held little of the conviction it once had, and had left in its wake a remorse so staggering she hadn't even made it to the door before she sank to her knees, and she couldn't hold back the tears as they pushed their way forward.

Behind her, the man holding her heart slept on, mindless of the turmoil his simple actions had caused her – the carnage he'd made of her mind and her heart and the tattered remnants of her sanity. But despite everything she had ever thought of Gajeel Redfox, Levy could not justify leading him on anymore than she could justify the actions of her father's killer. She'd entertained the idea of them, but her motivation had been selfish. She did not have a whole heart to give, and the man dozing on the bed behind her, recovering from a wound that by all means should have been hers to carry, deserved more than that.

Pulling herself towards the door, Levy allowed herself to settle against it – her back sinking against the thick slab of wood. Curling her legs up, she wrapped her arms around them, hugging them to her chest. And as she sat there in the dim light of the old kerosene lamp, eyes intent on the soft rise and fall of the imposing form on the bed before her, she made her decision.

She'd talk to Makarov in the morning.

* * *

AN: "...to ask him where she could find a good dry cleaner for her dress." Or, you know, not.

**sockdollager**: decisive blow/an action having great impact

**coffin varnish**: bootleg liquor, often poisonous

**gasper**: cigarette


	13. lalapazaza

AN: And everyone's favourite nutter finally makes his appearance! Or _my_ favourite nutter, at least. Ivan Dreyar, bringing the crazy no matter the universe! But seriously, who can't see this megalomaniac as a corrupt businessman in a ridiculously expensive suit?

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XIII**

"The old man has been asking for you."

He hadn't even taken two steps inside the speakeasy when the voice greeted him, the tone strangely serious coming from its owner. Gajeel frowned as he moved towards the bar, ignoring how his wound smarted with every step. He didn't have an appointment with the old geezer, meaning this was personal – he'd never have Cana doing his fetching for him if it was about his son.

"Did he say what it was about?"

From behind the bar, the flapper only shrugged, cat-like eyes trained on the glass she was polishing. "He looked serious," she added, and when she looked up her curious gaze held a clear warning. Gajeel sighed. He hadn't even had a smoke yet. It was too damn early for meetings, too – the sun was barely up.

There had to be a frown on his face, because Cana stilled her ministrations to raise a suspicious brow. "What did you do?"

He snorted. "Who says I did anything?"

She returned the snort, shifting her weight as she placed a hand on her hip. "Old man doesn't call meetings this early unless it's something serious. What've you been up to lately, Redfox? It ain't got anything to do with dollface, does it?"

The warning in her tone bordered on a threat, and he rolled his eyes. "'S far as I know, Shorty's peachy. The hell are you so strung up about?"

She smirked. "Just makin' sure you're not screwin' yourself over," she retorted with a shrug, and when her eyes met his there was a strange twinkle in them – the one that told him she either knew something he didn't, or thought she did. "Yer no big timer, Redfox, and she's a good girl – don't ruin it."

He didn't bother to tell her that he kind of already had, and turned towards the door on the opposite end of the room, eager to change the subject. "Old man in?"

She nodded, although she never took her eyes away from him. "Told me to get you when you showed up," she said. "Sure you haven't done anything wrong? Seems awfully suspicious to me."

He snorted as he strode past her, not bothering with a reply. Ignoring the eyes on his back as he walked across the common room to Makarov's office, he wasted no time in rapping his knuckles across the surface. A muffled 'Enter' was all he needed before he turned the handle, letting himself inside.

"Ah, Gajeel – I thought it might be you."

Closing the door behind him, Gajeel shoved his hands into his pockets, sensing from the tension in the air that formalities were redundant. Not that he'd ever really bothered in the past, but if he'd wanted to get on the old man's good side for some reason, he might have taken his hands out of his pockets and tucked his shirt in properly.

But something about the look on Makarov's face told him it wouldn't have mattered if he'd come in wearing his dirtiest suit.

"Please take a seat."

He snorted, and leaned his weight against the door behind him – the action a clear statement, and defiant enough to earn him a scowl from the smaller man. Seated behind his desk, he looked more businessman than bootlegger, and something about the fact had the hairs on the back of Gajeel's neck rising.

Something was wrong_._

"Levy came to see me last night."

He kept his face devoid of any expression as the words settled. "Yeah?"

Makarov placed his hands on the desk before him and squared his shoulders, and Gajeel was momentarily reminded of the first time he'd been in this office. He'd been recovering from the injuries of his pathetic assassination attempt, and had been lectured like a boy about the rights and wrongs of the world and the dangers of working for the wrong men. He'd used to think the man before him was just a frail little old man with a lot of influence, but he'd learned quickly that 'influence' didn't even begin to cover it. And now he was standing before him, again recovering from injuries, but this time in the line of duty to the man himself.

Good grief, he wasn't about to get another lecture, was he? What the hell had Shorty told him?

After he'd woken up, sometime around midday, courtesy of the drug she'd slipped him in what was easily the cheapest scotch he'd had in a long time, the hag had changed his bandages and all but thrown them out of her home, saying she didn't have the space or the patience to house their ungrateful souls, and that they'd already intruded enough on her hospitality. He'd snorted, and told her that knowing her, they'd intruded on her 'hospitality' simply by loitering outside her door. Shorty had, of course, been ridiculously grateful and polite, enough to earn herself a simple grumble from the old woman, instead of a cuff across the back of the head like the rest of them got whenever they turned up with an injury. Then she'd sent them on their merry way, and the girl had spent the remainder of the trip back to Fairy Tail so silent it had been downright creepy. When he'd asked, she'd just said she was tired, that she'd been up for most of the night, and that could he please promise to go to bed when they got back?

The thought brought his mind back to the wound smarting against his side, and as he caught the old man's gaze, he realized she must have told him about what had happened. And after he'd specifically told her _not_ _to_, the damn wench.

"What did Porlyusica say?" Makarov asked then, motioning to the bandage hidden behind his shirt. Gajeel shrugged.

"Nothing new – just rest and change the bandages when it's necessary."

Makarov nodded, but his eyes were dark as he took in the sight of him, and Gajeel found himself straightening from his slouched position. He could feel a thin veil of sweat covering his forehead, as the fever hadn't left him, and he knew that even if she hadn't told the old man about his wound, he would have easily been able to tell something was wrong. He had that unnerving ability.

"What happened, Gajeel?" he asked then, and he sounded...weary, for some reason.

Gajeel shrugged, trying not to bristle at the tone in his boss's voice. "Got cornered, got shot. What more's there to tell?"

Makarov gave him a look that told him that clearly wasn't everything, and Gajeel rolled his eyes, feeling his patience running thin. "Lay off, old man. If there's something you want answered, say it. I get enough games from your lunatic offspring – I don't need it from _you_, too. I–"

"Levy came in and asked to be assigned another escort."

Gajeel closed his mouth, whatever words he'd been about to say dying on his tongue. Makarov's gaze never left his, and it was a testament to his training that he didn't let on to what he was feeling.

Because what the _hell_?

"I take it from the look on your face that she didn't discuss this with you," he continued, and Gajeel checked himself, and found he'd been clenching his jaw so hard his teeth hurt.

"She didn't," was all he said, and even to his ears, the words sounded forced.

Makarov's brows furrowed. "I take it then that something happened between the two of you. And as I have heard some...rumours..."

"_Gossip_, you mean," Gajeel growled.

Makarov's look darkened. "It matters not what it's called. Is it true?" The warning in his tone would have had a lesser man shaking in his boots, but Gajeel was well-acquainted with Makarov Dreyar, and it would take more than a raised voice to put him down. He returned the glare with one of his own, while his stomach twisted in anger. The chit! The hell was she _doing_? After every damn thing he'd done for her, and now she was dropping him like yesterday's news? Without even telling him? Making him stand in front of his boss looking like a damn sap, while the old man pulled out the fucking chin music the idiots were throwing around without a mind of what they were saying.

"If you mean about any involvement past the professional, the answer is _no_," he snarled. "Princess' too fuckin' high and mighty to go for the likes of me."

Something in his reply made the old man's gaze soften, and Gajeel felt like breaking something. His hands shook where they clenched in his pockets, and his wound seared against his side, and he felt that, if he wasn't dismissed soon something was going out the nearest window. Forcing himself to be calm, he exhaled through his nose. "Did she give a reason for her...decision?" and he nearly cursed at how damn hoarse his voice sounded.

Makarov shook his head. "She was reluctant to say. And I believe her exact words were that she wished to 'relieve' you of your duties," he said with a shrug. "Are you quite sure nothing happened between the two of you? She did not give any impression of why she's suddenly changed her mind? Last I spoke to her, things seemed to be going well between the two of you."

"_I've been thinking–"_

"No."

His boss regarded him for a long moment, dark eyes suddenly unreadable, and Gajeel fought to stay calm under the deep scrutiny. Finally, Makarov sighed, and the sound was heavy in the thick air between them. "Well...I don't know what to say, other than that you are hereby relieved of your duties to her."

Gajeel nodded brusquely, and Makarov's frown deepened. "Are you alright, my boy?"

"Peachy fuckin' keen," he growled. "Am I dismissed?"

Makarov regarded him closely for a moment, before nodding, and Gajeel wasted no time in turning on his heel to stalk out of the office, all but tearing the door off its hinges as he made his exit. Letting it slam behind him with enough force to made the wall shudder, he didn't even notice the lack of the usual reprimand for his untucked shirt. His anger was swallowing him, drowning him in its ferocity. He needed to get out, and _fast_.

As he strode past the bar, Cana looked up from her polishing. "How did it go?" she asked, but he paid her no attention as he brushed past her, reeking danger and murderous intent, and where she'd usually call out to him for being rude, even she was rendered into silence at his blatant display of pent-up aggression.

The manipulating little _bitch!_

"_I've been thinking–"_

Was that what she'd been about to say? Before he'd taken a damn bullet for her, had she been about to propose they end their agreement? Then why the hell hadn't she said anything between then and _now?_ Why had she gone to the old man herself, like a thief in the dark, to 'relieve him of his duties' – something she should damn well have had the guts to say to his face?

"Oh, good morning, Gajeel–"

He paid the blonde no heed as he stalked past her, and she yelped, stepping out of the way as he all but shoved the door to the alley open. Coming out of the pleasantly warm establishment, the cool morning air crashed against him, but it did little to quell the outrage that surged through him like fire. His wound burned, too – scorching hot against his side, and his blood throbbed in his ears as he walked away from the speakeasy, intent on putting as much distance between himself and her before he did something he'd regret. He'd been dragged into her affairs without asking for it, been manipulated into actually giving a damn, and then she'd dismissed him like a disobedient _mutt_. And without giving a single reason for her decision.

The sound of the door slamming shut behind him reached his ears, before it was pushed open again, and the voice of the blonde called out across the backyard – his name, and a query, no doubt at his behaviour. And he could have stopped. He could have turned around and explained the situation. Hell, he could have demanded she drag shortstuff down so he could ask her what the fuck had gotten into her. He could have done that, but he didn't. He ignored her shout and kept on walking.

He didn't even bother looking back.

* * *

Whoever had had the bright idea that peach coloured pansies made for a respectable tapestry should be shot.

Shifting his weight and grimacing at the resulting throb from his midsection, Gajeel made another vain attempt at getting comfortable, but in the hell-inspired nook passing for a waiting room it was getting increasingly difficult. And with his wound deciding to make its presence known every five minutes, he couldn't even get a good nap in. Anger still simmered in his stomach as he glared at the offending tapestry on the opposite wall, fuelling his rage into the unsuspecting flowers. Ivan always did this – called him in and then made him wait. It was intentional, too – a power play to show who was in charge. And if there was one thing Gajeel had learned about his boss, it was that Ivan Dreyar liked to watch his underlings squirm.

Slouching in his chair, Gajeel glared at the wall, as though that would make the ugly flowers disappear. There'd been a man with him some time ago. He'd been sitting there already when he'd showed up, and hadn't been called in before nearly an hour had gone by. He'd been sweating and fidgeting in his seat, wringing his hands and checking the clock on the wall every other breath. A perfect victim for Ivan's sick schemes – Gajeel doubted he was anyone important, either. Probably just called up on a whim, to satisfy the man's perverse sense of pleasure. Tch.

Exhaling through his nose, Gajeel shifted in his seat. His bandage itched, his fever was still running high, and he was two seconds away from throwing something at the wall out of sheer spite. Ivan knew perfectly well he wasn't intimidated by his ploys – he just got utterly, amazingly _bored_. But that didn't stop the man from trying; he was a persistent bastard, if anything. Gajeel had been entertaining the idea of faking it just to be let in sooner, but knew it was only an idle fancy. He knew that if he did, he'd be one job short before he'd stepped foot into the loon's office. Ivan valued one thing above loyalty, and that was guts, and if you didn't have 'em, you were out. Simple as that.

Rolling his head on his shoulders, grimacing at the tension in them, Gajeel clenched his hands against his sides. Working with the nutter usually took his mind off other things, but concentration on anything seemed a feat in and of itself as he sat in his own, pansy-infested hell.

She'd written him off.

His jaw clenched as the events of the past two days came crawling back. He'd taken a damn bullet for her, only to be slapped in the face with the fact that she'd asked him to be_ relieved of his duties. _Ungrateful _chit_. The thought of her left a sour taste in his mouth. He hadn't bothered to seek her out after he'd seen the old man – what the hell had been the _point_? She was obviously done with him. If she hadn't had anything to say to him before she'd gone to Makarov, she had nothing worth saying to him now when she'd discarded him like an old shoe. The geezer could hand her over to someone else – some incompetent schmuck who didn't know the barrel of a gun from the trigger, and she could go on her merry way. She could rope some other unfortunate idiot into teaching her the trade, but she'd have good luck with _that_ – there weren't many men, even in Fairy Tail, who were willing to teach a woman, let alone take her seriously. If she wanted to learn that the hard way, that was her business. He was 'relieved', and if he didn't have to lay eyes on her again, that was fine by him.

The sharp, rhythmic click of heels on hardwood reached his ears, cutting through the near-suffocating silence of the waiting room.

"Mister Dreyar will see you now."

Looking up from where he'd been half-dozing in his seat, Gajeel shot the secretary a dark look before rising to his feet. To her credit, she didn't lash out at him, only sneered, before turning on her heel with an indignant toss of her head.

Bitch.

Following her out of the overly decorated waiting room, Gajeel tried to school his anger into submission, knowing Ivan didn't take kindly to open aggression, and even more, that Gajeel himself had a much easier time dealing with the nut when he wasn't already feeling like killing someone. It was better to meet the man in a good mood only to have it spoiled, than walk in on the brink of tearing someone to pieces. And he'd know, too – like his old man, Ivan had the uncanny ability to see right through his subordinates.

Steeling himself and drawing on his years in the dark gutters of the city, Gajeel left the part of him that worked for Makarov in the ugly-assed lobby, taking with him only the corrupt part of himself that did Ivan's dirty work with a grin and not a single shred of remorse. Long used to the exercise, he was mildly irritated that it took a greater effort than it used to, but then it probably had something to do with the image of a certain pair of big brown eyes than he couldn't seem to shove out of his head.

Jaw clenching, he willed himself to think about something else. Anything else, in case Ivan was in the mood for an interrogation, which was most likely the case, considering the fact that Gajeel hadn't been summoned since before taking on the bodyguard gig. He was bound to have heard – he kept a close enough eye on his old man to know _most_ of what went on with Fairy Tail. Not that Makarov was unaware of this – Gajeel suspected the man made a point of intentionally feeding false information to get the rumour-mill going. And then there was himself, whose most delightful task consisted of keeping the damn fruitcake both satisfied and in the dark at the same time. Working between the two was a fucking education in being a believable liar, and it made him wonder how he had any kind of morals left after so many years in their respective services.

The bloody things he had to do for this damn job...

At the end of the long corridor loomed a set of elaborate double-doors – pretentious as fuck, as the man sitting in the room behind them. Gajeel refrained from snorting, as he always did, at the unashamed show of blatant snobbery.

The wench Ivan had organising his schedule cast him a withering look over her shoulder, and Gajeel glared right back, lips parting in a snarl. Ever since she'd stepped into her new job, Flare had taken an immediate dislike to him, and the feeling was more than mutual. He knew she was more than a commonly trained secretary, too – no one working so close to Ivan Dreyar would or could do so without the required skills. He'd had Juvia check her credentials, but even she'd come up with unnervingly little, and ever since, Gajeel had decided not to trust her. For a woman who had several hidden weapons on her person at all times, like the razor-sharp ornaments keeping her ridiculously long hair secured at her neck, there was just no way she had a clean slate to her name. But whatever she'd done, it had been swiped clean before she'd come to work for Ivan. With the face he was trying to display to the public, he couldn't have known criminals working alongside him. As a contrast, Gajeel worked the shadows of his prospering company, getting his hands dirty and bloodied so that all there was left to show Fiore was a legitimate, charitable business under a man whose carefully crafted smiles covered more than it's share of front-pages every week. And Magnolia _loved_ Ivan Dreyar, almost as much as they mistrusted the enigmatic 'Alexei' that had arisen as his merciless counterpart. Gajeel had to hand it to the man – corrupt as it was, there was no denying the effectiveness of the scheme, where he could have his damn cake and it as much of it as he'd like.

Stopping in front of the doors, Flare rapped her knuckles sharply across the surface, waiting only a brief moment before placing her hand on the elegant doorhandle and letting them inside. As she stepped away to allow him entry, Gajeel wasted no time in following suit, for as much as he loved to make others wait for him, Ivan's own patience was famously paper-thin.

"Ah, _little_ _Gajeel_. I do apologise for keeping you waiting," the smooth drawl greeted him upon his entrance, and despite the disgust crawling across his skin, he kept his expression neutral.

"Master Ivan."

A patronising smile stretched across the man's face at the glorified honorific, and he nodded towards his secretary. "Flare my dear, fix a drink for Gajeel. Scotch, I believe, is his preference."

She nodded brusquely, adoration shining in her eyes, before she shot Gajeel a look that could have scorched through wood. Spinning on her heel elegantly, she made for the door, the low bun at the back of her neck swaying in time with her short skirts. Most men in this part of town were wary of the new fashion and the raised hems, claiming it to be a derogatory trend befitting only women from the Alleys, but Ivan seemed to have embraced it wholeheartedly.

The door closed behind her with a click, and Gajeel turned his gaze back to his boss, who had been busy watching her walk away, a leering smile on his face. Gajeel said nothing, glad he had made an effort to shove away any morals he might still have left before he entered – if he hadn't, he would already be in trouble. Even a deeply sinful man didn't need long in Ivan's presence before feeing the need to take a bath – or go to church.

Seated behind a large mahogany desk, fingers laced across his stomach as he leaned back into his chair, the man reeked of arrogant superiority in his expensive suit. The intricately shaved beard only added to the picture, making him look more diabolic than fashionable, in Gajeel's opinion, but he figured _that_ might be intentional, too. Ivan was, if anything, extremely meticulous when it came to appearance, and demanded the same from his employees, no matter their rank. Which was why Gajeel was dressed in his best: a black suit and grey silk vest, the leather shoes he never wore outside the office he was currently standing in, and a crisp white shirt that was no doubt going to go to straight to hell with the way he was sweating through it and the fact that he had a sneaking suspicion his wound had opened up.

"So, _Gajeel_. How are you holding up?"

He shrugged, the action stiffer than he'd intended. "Fine."

The look on Ivan's face told him he was fooling no-one, and when his eyes flickered briefly to his midsection, Gajeel knew for certain that he was well-aware of his predicament. And of course, Ivan had intended him to realise this – the motioning of his eyes had been entirely too blatant to be anything but intended. He did so enjoy his games, and Gajeel knew better than to call him out on his pretended ignorance.

"And how is the old man?"

He smirked – he could play _this_ game in his sleep. "Getting older."

Ivan grinned, as pleased at the answer as he always was. "Hardly surprising. And the business?"

And this was always where things got unpleasant. Gajeel inhaled through his nose, before uttering the same word he always said. He didn't even know why Ivan asked anymore – it hadn't changed in the last two years. "Booming."

Distaste flickered across his boss' face, and his eyes darkened. "Unfortunately," his reply was a slithering sneer. "Oh, well. All the more satisfying when I take it away. Although it would be easier if it was in shambles – then he'd have no choice but to seek help."

Gajeel raised a brow. "You don't do mergers," he said, the remark redundant, but necessary.

Ivan's grin was sly. "For the _public_, I do. No one likes a hostile takeover – you saw what happened with the McGarden scandal." He rolled his eyes. "Such _drama_, and just because the fool went and shot himself in the head." At this he shot Gajeel a lingering look. "I guess some people just can't handle a little _resistance_." Even before the words fully settled in his mind, there was no doubt.

He knew. The bastard knew, and he was testing his loyalty.

_Fuck_.

Schooling his features, Gajeel snorted. "Then he shouldn't be running a business," he said, meeting Ivan's gaze without flinching, and if it hadn't been for the fact that he couldn't care less what Shorty did with her fucking life, he'd have had a much harder time playing into his boss's hand. But he was pissed, and she could rot for all he cared.

Ivan's grin was a slow curl of the lip. "Indeed. People like him should leave such things to those of us who are worth our salt. A business like the McGarden should be utilised to its full potential – he clearly wasn't up for the job."

Gajeel only nodded, and hoped he'd drop the subject after his little power-play.

His luck, however, wasn't with him. "Did you happen to hear what became of his young heir?"

_Trick question. _

There was no doubt in his mind Ivan knew where she was, and lying outright about that would only get him a one-way ticket to an unpleasant end. No, Ivan knew, and he'd reveal that soon enough. All he had to do in the meantime was play his cards right. "I might have heard a rumour or two," he said with a shrug.

Ivan grinned, pleased with his answer. "Indeed. Such a tragic story, isn't it, though? Finding her father in such a way." He shook his head. "Such selfishness, subjecting one's young to such a sight. And a _woman_, too. Utterly _selfish_."

Gajeel said nothing, and wisely kept his mind from going to the woman in question and the big brown eyes that had looked up at him when she'd declared her intent on taking on her father's killer: the man sitting before him, spinning his lies and deceit and basking in the wealth of others.

He shoved the image away, focusing rather on his current task. _This_ was the game, and he was the pawn, and the only way he wouldn't lose – there was no talk of winning; only Ivan could do that – was if he managed to convince the man before him that he had no knowledge of any thoughts about revolting from her side. It was also the only way to ensure he didn't send anyone after her. Because if Ivan so much as suspected that she'd try to take her fortune back, or if word got out about the true circumstances regarding her old man's death...Not even Makarov could protect her then. Gajeel assumed that was the reason he'd been chosen to protect her in the first place, because her greatest chance of staying alive would be if Ivan were somehow convinced of her futility, and that she posed no threat. That was why Makarov had been so reluctant to see him go, because no matter how physically strong a bodyguard he got for her now, Gajeel was the only one capable of keeping her safe from Ivan's suspicions.

And _that_ was by far a bigger threat than any bullet would ever be.

"So...how is she doing?"

The directness of the question didn't surprise him, but then with Ivan, nothing ever did. Not anymore. And even if she was no longer a concern of his – or that the mere thought of her filled him with resent – Gajeel would take _this_ bullet for her without question. Just for the simple fact that the thought of anything happening to her had another kind of anger surging through him – an anger that made the one she'd evoked in him seem almost frivolous.

He shrugged. "Adapting, but making a damn big fuss about it. Too damn posh for her own good."

Ivan raised a brow. "So _harsh_, Gajeel. Still no sympathy for the rich, I see."

He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've got no sympathy for weak little brats," he growled, even as the image of her flashed before his eyes. The tear-filled eyes looking up at him, flinching as his fingers closed around her slim wrist–

But the image flickered even as he spoke the words. The eyes hardened, turned steel cold, even though they burned with a conviction he'd never expected to see in one of her kind. He remembered the resolute set to her small shoulders, and her haughtily raised chin. Demanding him to teach her to fight. Small hands pulling the trigger. A tiny shape slipping under his arm, taking his weight on her shoulders and leading him through the darkened alleys to save his life.

"_**I want to avenge my family." **_

The _truth_ would have been so much easier. If she really had been a frail, weak little woman who complained about her lot and who was unable to lift a finger to help herself. It would have been so easy to convince Ivan of her uselessness and the ridiculous notion of a personal rebellion, if that had indeed been the case. But it wasn't. And she was anything but _weak, _and now the only thing that could save her was Gajeel's ability to pull of a believable lie.

Ivan was quiet for a long time, regarding him with near-hooded eyes, and Gajeel had to force himself to keep breathing and not give the impression of being anything but calm himself. The wound in his side seared like hot cinders, and he felt bile rise slowly in his throat. He hadn't had nearly as much rest as the hag usually demanded, and he knew he should be lying down before he passed out or before he lost too much blood. But he needed to know – needed to know for sure that he'd convinced him. And if not, he needed to remedy the situation.

There was a knock on the door, effectively interrupting his thoughts, and Flare waited a second before entering, pushing a small tray of decanters and glasses. There was hardly a pause in her movements as she went to pour their drinks, and the smile she shot Ivan as she handed him his was enough to make Gajeel feel sick to his stomach, but he accepted his scotch with a glare and a nod. Then she wandered back out, a flare of skirts and hair, and had it not been for the fact that Ivan kept an almost obsessively tight grip on his cards, they could have continued their conversation and hardly have noticed her enter or exit.

Leaning back in his chair, Ivan savoured his drink, a pleased smile on his face. Gajeel resisted from downing his – the wound in his side was a constant throb, and he could feel the fever beginning to become uncomfortable, and the office was almost stifling. But Ivan seemed in no hurry to crack a window, and Gajeel would rather kiss the man's shoes than ask him to. So he remained where he was, glass gripped tightly in his shaking hand and trying to keep his mind on his job and not the wound in his side or the woman he'd gotten it for.

After an almost agonisingly long time, Ivan turned his eyes away from his drink. "It must be quite insulting to you, to have to constantly cater to her whims," he said then, and the smile that followed had Gajeel feeling near-dizzy with unashamed relief, although he made no overt indication of this, only snorted.

"That lasted about a week – I've been 'dismissed', as they say. Too rough in my treatment for such a fragile little thing."

It was like feeding honey to a hungry bear – Ivan threw his head back with a laugh, and Gajeel took the moment to take a breath. His shoulders were straining from all the tension in them, and he forced himself to relax. When he met Ivan's gaze, there was something in them that made it clear he was far from finished with his games, but at least, Gajeel was confident the subject of Levy McGarden had been thoroughly and soundly dropped.

"I can only assume you are curious to know what I've called you here for. It wasn't to chat, although your wit never fails to amuse me," he began, and had he been anyone else, Gajeel would have rolled his eyes. Only Ivan Dreyar spent such a long time introducing a subject – his father would have simply gotten down to business. But then Makarov didn't relish in watching his employees dance on strings like puppets.

"I'm all ears."

Ivan grinned. "Good, good. Now," he said, placing his glass down onto his desk and leaning his elbows on it. "I've heard a rumour going around that Iron Fist Gajeel is back in the ring."

There was a question there, but Ivan never asked questions. Asking questions would imply there was something he did not know, and that was something Gajeel knew he couldn't stand. Not that anyone knew _everything_ that went on in Magnolia – not even Makarov, although he certainly made the impression, but Gajeel suspected that was halfway just to watch his son squirm.

"I've been a few rounds," was all he said.

Ivan looked oddly pleased, and Gajeel knew he'd said something right, but that he wasn't going to be very happy in a few minutes. "Indeed," he hummed, a hand at his chin now, contemplative, although Gajeel suspected he'd known full well that he had taken up the gloves again. News like that didn't stay secret for long, at least not with his reputation.

"Tell me, Gajeel, have you heard any news of my boys lately?" he asked then, and Gajeel frowned.

"Not really."

Ivan's look darkened visibly. "And do you know why that is?"

He shrugged. "Business is tight in the ring these days – lots of new brats making names for themselves." Or that was what Lily had told him, anyway. He had generally little patience with what went on behind the scenes – all he cared about was a good crowd, a good opponent and the chance to show off and punch someone in the face.

"Right you are again. But see, that's the problem – they're making _too_ _much_ of a fuss, and sadly, my boys have been unable to keep up." The way he left the statement hanging served only one purpose – for Gajeel to know, on a subtle level, that those boys were no doubt out of a job.

If they were _lucky_, that was.

"It's a tough business," was all he said.

Ivan smirked. "But you're no palooka, Gajeel. _You_ had quite a name, before you quit."

He could see where this was going – had been able to see it since he'd brought up the subject, and the wound in his side seemed to sting all the more at the prospect he knew was being presented before him.

"That was a long time ago," he said with a shrug.

"But even then, you were much better than the rookies are now."

"Perhaps."

Ivan's grin was starting to look forced, and Gajeel knew he was pushing his luck. "Come now, Gajeel. Let's not beat around the bush. I have a proposition for you."

He steeled himself for what was coming. There was no such thing as 'proposition' when dealing with the man before him. There were commands, both subtle and direct. The trick was being able to tell them apart, and then to know, to the marrow of your bones, that there was also no such thing as saying 'no'.

But there was also the importance of keeping up appearances.

"I'm listening."

Ivan leaned back into his chair, eyes gleaming. "There's a fight coming up. _Tonight_, in fact, and against the most prominent club in the city. And it just so happens, my main man has turned out to be...a bit of a disappointment. A sprained ankle during practice," he waved it off, and Gajeel wouldn't be surprised if they found the fella floating in the river in the morning. But he said nothing as Ivan continued.

"So I'd like you to take his place. Pull my name out of the gutter, and reclaim your old reputation." He grinned, spreading his arms, as though presenting Gajeel with the opportunity of a lifetime. Everybody wins, except the foolish bootlegger who went and got himself shot.

"What do you say, _my boy_?"

The endearment made him bristle, but he kept from showing it. From the old man, it was a sign of kinship and trust. From Ivan it was nothing short of repulsive, although he knew it was intended, in the man's twisted sense of the concept, to be compassionate. To show familiarity. Everyone in Magnolia knew of his father's kind heart and his penchant for all but adopting his employees, and Gajeel wouldn't put it past Ivan to think of him as a street urchin looking for a father figure, and believing such words to be the perfect bait.

Fucker.

Letting a smirk stretch slowly across his face, Gajeel crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to wince as the motion sent a stab of pain through his side. "I think I'd like to pummel a brat or two," he said. "What time is the match?"

Ivan looked beyond pleased with himself. "Attaboy. And it's nine o'clock, at the old amphitheatre by the river. It'll be a full house, once word gets out about who's fighting."

He didn't doubt that. "And the rules?"

"Apply, as they always do."

Except with Ivan's boys, they never did. Gajeel knew from experience the sort of boxing they did – skirting around the rules, always teetering on the edge of what was acceptable and continuously testing the patience of the crowd and the referee. There was no honour in a fight like that, only corruption and covert cheating. He'd taken pleasure in knowing Ivan's ragtag boys had gotten their asses handed to them, even if it put him in his current position. Now he had one job, and that was to win. If he didn't...

The wound throbbed, and he felt sweat break out across his back, soaking his shirt. He was in no condition to fight. He knew that, and Ivan knew it, but it wasn't about winning. Not really. It was a test of his loyalty. Simple as that. If he didn't participate, he'd lose. If he participated and didn't _win_...If he didn't win it would be because the wound had him kicking the bucket. But at least then he wouldn't have to deal with the nutter's bloody games anymore.

But Shorty would – the thought had something tightening around his heart, and he fought to keep the glower off his face as he kept his gaze firmly locked with his boss'. The prospect lingered in his mind. He could walk as far away as he liked, but she'd always come back to haunt him, wouldn't she? If he died, it'd be with her fate on his conscience, and the thought had him feeling sick.

"Well, I shouldn't keep you," Ivan said then, the dismissal clear in his tone. "You'll probably want to do some warming up, to get back into the spirit of the game."

Gajeel only nodded, and made for the door, pain shooting through him with every step. He'd need to get something for that before the match. Something strong – preferably something illegal. Stopping by the door, a thought struck him as his hand closed over the gilded handle, and he inclined his head towards the other man as he spoke.

"Does the rookie have a name?"

The smile on the man's face was enough to turn anyone's stomach, and his eyes shone with a delight indulged only by those who took genuine pleasure in seeing carnage happen before them. Gajeel knew, then, that it wasn't just any rookie he was going up against. Ivan had mentioned the most prominent club in the city, and that could only mean Sabertooth. And if he was up against Sabertooth, the 'rookie' wouldn't be just any prizefighter.

When he spoke, Ivan's voice was an almost seductive purr, sending an unpleasant shiver down Gajeel's spine.

"Rogue Cheney."

* * *

AN: I think shit, *****puts on sunglasses*, is about to go down. YEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAH!

**lalapazaza**: a good sport

**palooka**: average/below average boxer, from the comic-strip character Joe Palooka.

**big timer**: a charming and romantic man

**chin music**: gossip


	14. eye of the tiger

AN: Goodness, over 200 reviews! **I'm so excited about this!** I'd never thought this would get so much feedback and readers, but you guys are AMAZING! And I love hearing your reactions – some of your gems have made me chortle for an almost embarrassingly long time. Makes me sound real sane, it does.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XIV**

'Deep' didn't even _begin_ to describe the hole he'd dug himself.

"Hey, Gajeel! We heard the news, man – give 'im hell!"

"We've got wagers going on tonight!"

"Time someone knocked those chaps off their pedestal!"

Answering the greetings with an absent nod, Gajeel pushed his way through the doors to the amphitheatre, trying to ignore the exited bustle that seemed to ripple across the people gathered inside at his entrance. The match was hours away still, but the place was already buzzing with people, some seated and others scuttling between the chairs, no doubt taking the aforementioned wagers. Keeping his eyes firmly averted, he made his way across the room. It had been a long time since he'd had a match beneath this particular roof – even with his reputation, he'd always taken more offers from smaller clubs in the Alleys. The pay wasn't as good as in the inner city, and the matches not always legal, but the crowds were a completely different matter. In the inner city, even the disgustingly posh crawled out of their mansions to watch on occasion, and Gajeel had to admit he'd take rowdy thugs to politely clapping fat cats any day.

But he also knew that Ivan would never pitch his own boys in anything but the best, and the place he was in now was pretty much the swankiest you could find in Magnolia. It was by far the largest, and could fit twice as many people than even the largest club downtown. It was also clean, which was a rarity in and of itself in the boxing business.

"Hey, Redfox!" the call came from across the room, and he raised his head briefly to take in the grinning smile of the perpetual stripper Juvia was so fond of. "Good luck in the ring tonight," he offered with a nod of his head, and he returned the nod, wondering idly how many from Fairy Tail would be present at the match. Considering how the wound gave him hell just by _walking_, he feared the fight might take a turn for the grotesque, and although it was considered good sport by many, he had an itch the old man wouldn't be too happy when he found out. He'd probably get a sound lecture and a cuff across the back of his head for his efforts – if he lived to see it, that was. And as morbid as the thought was, there was also an undeniable sense of truth to it; he really had no guarantee he'd make it past the first round. Not in his current state, anyway.

And, of course, there was _her_ to consider. No doubt Natsu would drag her along with the blonde as he'd so eagerly promised, and Gajeel felt a strange sort of apprehension at the thought. He shoved it away as soon as it appeared. It was _ridiculous_ – she'd already seen him at his weakest. If he were to get his ass handed to him by the Cheney kid, it would be nothing worse for her eyes than watching him be shot at close range.

Except it probably would be, and even if she had given him the sack, he couldn't help but feel fidgety at the prospect of her watching. Two days ago, he'd have eagerly accepted the challenge, if only to show off a little and look good while doing it, and so that she could see what a real match was like. Now he had a bullet-wound in his side, an annoyingly high fever, and 'showing off' would have to be replaced with 'keeping the hell alive' and trying not to make a damn fool of himself in the process.

He nearly snorted at his own thoughts. Worrying about her opinion when the odds were he wouldn't make it out of the fight alive. What the hell had she _done_ to him?

Twisting out of the way to avoid a fella making a dash for the entrance, he tried not to curse as the movement had his vision swimming and bile rising in his throat. Clenching his hands to keep them from shaking, he kept up his pace, ignoring the constant throb in his side as he made for the locker rooms on the other side of the establishment. The last thing he needed was to raise suspicions about his health.

Crossing the room towards the raised platform in the middle, he spotted Lily leaning against one of the supporting beams, and stopped in his tracks, biting back a curse as he swiftly contemplated the possibility of somehow getting past without his friend catching sight of him. But he hadn't had long to consider this thought before the man looked up, catching his gaze.

His luck seemed to have left him for good.

"Gajeel!"

Sighing, he reluctantly made his way over, trying to ignore the wound in his side as he wondered how long it would take for Lily to catch on. Knowing him, the damn worry-wart would do what he could to keep him from competing, and that was the one thing he didn't need. Mixing Lily into Ivan's sick games was out of the question, too, and he hoped he could make his friend see that without having to tie him up and leave him in a supply closet until the match was over. And of course, the latter would only work if he had the strength for it. Lily was a challenge on a _good_ day – he didn't even want to consider the fool the man could make of him in his current condition.

As he came over, the man raked a quick glance over him, a frown pulling his brows down, and the easy smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

Lily snorted, a smile tugging at his lips, although the concern didn't quite leave his eyes. "No, seriously, man – you look ragged." His frown deepened as he took in the sweat on his brow. "You haven't been drinking, have you?"

_Not enough, apparently_, he thought sourly. He didn't drink before a match out of principle, but the thought of a glass of brown plaid to numb the pain seemed a damn good idea. "Sober as a nun," he grumbled instead, shifting the weight of the bag slung across his shoulders and trying not to wince at the pain. Lily said nothing to that, and the look on his face was weary as he regarded Gajeel from below the rim of his sixpence.

"You're hiding something."

_And here we go. _

"I'm always hiding something," he muttered, and tried to brush past his friend, eager to get to the locker rooms. The match was two hours away, but he needed some time to prepare. Preferably re-wrap the wound where the stitches had no doubt gone to hell. He wasn't very good with a needle – Juvia usually did that for him, but Juvia couldn't know what he was about to subject himself to. Like the man before him, she'd never allow it. And having actively worked with the woman for several years, the methods she might pull out of her sleeve to keep him out of the match was enough to turn his stomach.

So no, Juvia was not an option. He'd have to fix the injury himself. Hell, maybe if he wrapped it tightly enough...

Pushing through the doors to the lockers, he dropped his bag and headed for the sink. His fever was showing no signs of letting up, and he was sweating like it was in the middle of summer. The sounds of the doors swinging shut and then swinging back open again reached his ears, and he tried his best to ignore Lily as he entered the room.

"Don't you have your own boys to look after?" he muttered as he washed his face, sighing at the momentary relief the cold water brought him. This was also a perk of a fancy club – the smaller ones just provided a bucket of dirty gutter-sludge. This one had a pump with fresh, blissfully cold and _clean_ water.

Lily was silent, and Gajeel didn't need to see him to know he was crossing his arms over his chest. "Not when you're going to be a stubborn bastard – that's always a sign something's fishy."

Gajeel rolled his eyes, rubbing a towel over his face as he shook the droplets from his hair. "Nothing's fishy, Lil – just not feeling too swell," he said evasively as he turned to fetch his things, but was stopped by the man himself, and before he'd had a chance to react properly, Lily had stepped forward, caught his arm and yanked his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers.

"Oye–!"

"What the _hell_, Gajeel?" he cursed at the sight of the bandage, and Gajeel pulled back with a snarl.

"Oversteppin' the damn _line_, Lil," he growled, but the dark skinned man didn't look abashed – only horrified.

And then furious. "Don't go spewin' that crap to me, you idiot – what the fuck is_that_?" He made another grab for him, but Gajeel stepped out of his reach.

"It ain't nothin'."

Lily snorted. "It sure as hell is _something_ – it's bled through the bandage!"

Gajeel cursed under his breath, and a quick check confirmed his friend's words. A thin layer of blood had seeped through the white gauze.

"Fuck."

"What the hell are you _thinking_? Going in the ring with a bleeding wound? Are you out of your damn _mind_?!"

"I don't need a fuckin' lecture, Lil," he growled, but his friend only stalked forward, purpose shining in his eyes, and before Gajeel could evade properly, nudged the wound lightly with he palm of his hand.

The pain that shot through him was near blinding, and he coughed, doubling over as his vision bled white and the room tilted. Lily caught him before he lost his footing completely, slipping an arm under his and keeping him upright long enough to get him to the nearest bench, where he promptly sat him down. Sweat had broken out across his back, and he could feel it run down his neck to pool near his collarbones. The room was spinning, and the wound throbbed with an intensity he could feel in his entire body. The ever-persistent nausea roiled threateningly in his stomach, and he clenched his eyes shut as he tried to push the feeling back. A cold and damp cloth was pushed into his hands, and he mumbled his thanks as he put it to his forehead to soothe the fever.

It took him more than a minute to gather himself, and when he opened his eyes, Lily was sitting on the bench opposite, a grave look on his face. With the corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown, the whisker-like scars on his chin stood out more prominently, making him look distinctly cat-like, and his brows were furrowed deeply above dark, angry eyes. He looked older, too, somehow.

Gajeel sighed. "I know what you're going to say–"

"_Enlighten_ _me_," he cut him off, and despite the pain he was in, Gajeel had strength enough to level a glare. Lily returned the look, and the tightness to his shoulders left no room for argument. When he didn't speak, the older man shifted his weight, leaning forward to give Gajeel the look he'd used to give him when he'd been a rookie in the ring and hell-bent of doing things his own way, regardless of the injuries his recklessness had gotten him.

"What," he began, motioning to the wound, "is _that_? And when you've told me, you can throw in the reason why you're out to get yourself _killed_. Do you know who you're up against tonight?"

Gajeel snorted. "The Cheney brat everyone's so damn excited about. So what?" His bravado wasn't appreciated, but that was hardly a surprise. He sighed. "Lay off, Lil – there's more to this than just tomfoolery."

Lily snorted. "Doesn't seem that way to me. All I see is plain damn stupid_."_

Gajeel glared. "You gonna let me talk, or are you gonna lecture me like a brat?"

He raised a brow at that. "Don't sass me, Gajeel. I'm gonna let you talk if you're going to explain what the fuck you think you're doing, and then I'll lecture your ass like a four-year-old if I damn well please. Now _talk."_

Gajeel said nothing to that, and a moment of heavy silence passed between them as they glared at each other. Then, because he knew Lily wasn't going to give in before he got what he wanted, he relented.

"I got shot."

On a good day, his friend might have snorted, but the surrounding circumstances had drained whatever humour he could have drawn from the statement. Now, his brows just furrowed further, and his eyes flickered to the wound.

"In who's service?"

Gajeel sighed. "Neither, if you'd believe it." When Lily looked puzzled, he gave him a look, and realisation dawned on him.

"_Jose_?"

He shrugged, feeling a stab of annoyance at having let one of his former boss' bootlickers catch him off guard in the first place. When he didn't say anything else, Lily shook his head. "Alright, so you got shot. That doesn't explain what you're doing, taking on one of the top boxers in the business."

"Top_ rookie_."

"Still at the _top_," Lily retorted with a shrug. "He's been in the ring more than you have this year, and I ain't gonna lie to you – he's a tough kid. Not much of a show-off, but there's a reason he's one of Sabertooth's favourites."

Gajeel said nothing to that. Of course he knew the brat wasn't just another palooka. He'd known that the minute Ivan had roped him into his new game, but he'd made it a point not to think about it too much. He'd always made it a point not to worry about his opponent before a match, unless it was someone he really wanted to fight. This Rogue kid had quite the reputation, which was no doubt part of what would fill the seats in the theatre in the coming hour. The city's former big shot boxer and the current favourite – no doubt Ivan was benefiting handsomely from his new scheme. Hell, it wouldn't surprised him if it turned out the nutter owned the whole damn theatre, the pretentious bastard. And if it hadn't been for the fact that the man had his damn neck on a barbed leash, Gajeel would have walked away. But whether he liked it or not, his loyalty was at stake, and if he refused, he knew Ivan would find a way of revenge that would have made him wish he chose the ring.

And despite their earlier conversation, something told him that Ivan's current trump card was a tiny, blue haired heiress he supposedly didn't give a damn about.

Clenching his hands against his sides, Gajeel shook his head. His mind had been made up the minute he'd stepped out of Ivan's office. Nothing had changed, and he doubted it would, even if Lily kept looking at him like _that_.

"I have to fight, Lil," he said finally, hoping his words were enough to convince his friend of the severity of the situation. "I ain't about the thrill, and it ain't about my reputation," he continued, feeling suddenly very tired. The shock of his earlier pain was wearing off, and a cold sweat had broken out across his entire form, peppering his skin with goosebumps despite his raging fever.

Lily's look was severe. "It's about Ivan." There was no question there, but then, Lily was one of the few who truly knew tight rope Gajeel walked on a daily basis.

"It ain't like I've got a choice – it ain't just _my_ hide at stake." He didn't elaborate, not particularly feeling up for a heart-to-heart chat, and knowing that Lily probably already knew _she_ had something to do with it.

Lily shook his head, but said nothing, and Gajeel could tell he was desperately looking for a loophole. But Lily knew as well as Gajeel did, that with Ivan Dreyar there was no such thing as 'loopholes'. Leaning his elbow on his knees, he lifted his sixpence, and ran a quick hand through his short hair before putting it back on. "This ain't going to end well," he said then, and the tone of his voice made him sound years older than he really was.

Gajeel snorted. "You're telling me?"

Lily shook his head. "Do you have anything for the pain?" Any other time, Gajeel would have been pleased at how little time it took to convince his old friend, but with circumstances being what they were, the fact that Lily relented so easily only served to underline the choke-hold Ivan had on him.

He shrugged. "Dug some stuff out of my drawers from way back – don't know if it packs much a punch anymore."

Rising to his feet, Lily crossed the room to the first aid kit shoved haphazardly against the wall. "Your stitches need mending," he said as he rummaged through the old tin box, before walking back over to Gajeel. "That, at least, I can do, if I can't convince you to throw in your towel."

Gajeel snorted, but said nothing as he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, grimacing at the sight of the blood. It had seeped through pretty badly – there was no way he could use the shirt with a stain that size before he'd even entered the ring. People were bound to be suspicious, and it might even get him disqualified. The rules stated that injuries prior to a match had to be approved by a medic before a boxer was allowed to participate – at least that's how they'd used to run it in the inner city, and he doubted it had changed in the past two years. There were some clubs in the Alleys who could care less, but that was hardly helping him _now_. He should by all means have had a medic check him over, but Porlyusica would have beaten him senseless at the mere notion of what he was planning on doing. There was no way Ivan would let him have anyone other than one of his own lackeys, anyway, and it wouldn't have changed anything, even it he had let someone check him over. He'd have still been forced to compete.

Unwrapping the bandage, Lily grimaced at the sight of the torn stitches, and shook his head in silent reprimand before he got to work. Without anything to dull the pain, Gajeel tried to focus his mind on other things as his friend set about re-stitching the wound with a precision that would have been surprising for anyone who didn't know the man's background. His jaw clenched tightly as the needle wove through the torn skin, and his head swam unpleasantly, but he kept a tight rein on his conscious as his friend did his work.

"How could you tell?" he asked after a moment, before wincing.

Lily grunted, intent on his task. "That something was up?" Gajeel nodded, and he quirked a wry smile. "Well, you were favouring your left side, which I thought was odd," he said, before he flashed Gajeel a look. "And then there's the fact that you'd tucked your shirt in, which you_never_ do," he added. "Dead giveaway."

Gajeel grumbled to himself, and hissed through his teeth as the needle poked through the skin. Lily muttered an apology, but didn't still in his ministrations. Breathing through his nose, Gajeel turned his mind away from the dim locker rooms and the prospect of the match, trying vainly to latch onto something to distract himself.

"Does she know?" The question was uttered casually, accompanied by another weave of the needle, and Gajeel cursed under his breath. He didn't say anything at first, but when Lily shot him another look, he sighed.

"No."

"Why not?"

He snorted. "Shorty wrote me off – it ain't like she'd give a damn about what I do with my time."

Lily rolled his eyes. "You're idiots, the both of you."

"Hey, I'm not the one–"

"So she sacked your ass – she probably had her reasons. Did you bother to ask? Wait, who am I kidding? Of course you didn't."

"The hell was there to ask about? I'd sound like a jilted lover."

"Well, aren't you?"

Despite the pain, Gajeel glared at his friend. "Treading on dangerous ground, Lil," he warned, but Lily only rolled his eyes.

"What are you going to do? Pass out on me? I could bring you down just by _looking_ at that wound." But even as he spoke the words, the underlying concern was plain as if he'd said it straight out, and Gajeel's next insult died on his tongue. Another moment of silence passed between them as Lily worked, and Gajeel tried not to curse too much. If he couldn't handle a few stitches, he was as good as done for.

"You need to get this looked at," Lily said then.

Gajeel snorted. "That's supposing I live through it."

A smack to the back of his head had a surprised curse tumbling off his tongue, and he looked at Lily, but closed his mouth at the serious expression on his face. "Joke about that again and I'll make sure that if the Cheney kid doesn't beat the crap out of you, _I _will."

He said nothing to that, because despite the severity of the threat, it only went to show how much the prospect frightened his friend. And in all his years of knowing the man, he'd never once seen Lily genuinely scared.

"I'll win."

"You better."

They were silent again, and it didn't take many stitches for Lily to finish his work. As he put the needle away, he fished out a fresh roll of bandages from the box, and set about re-wrapping the wound with an efficiency that made Gajeel wonder idly how botched up his own re-dressing would have been, had he had a go at it alone.

"There, that's the best I can do."

Inspecting the clean bandage, Gajeel only nodded, before his eyes landed on the ruined shirt in his hands.

"Here."

Looking up, he wordlessly took the piece of fabric Lily offered. "Always keep spares around. Can't have you looking like a rag-a-muffin when you're up against a man like Rogue Cheney."

Despite the situation, Gajeel snorted. "And what kind of man would that be?"

Lily grinned. "One of them clean-shaven pretty boys – he's very popular with the girls, you know."

Gajeel scoffed, but a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "All the more pleasure in smashing his nose in. Can't have a boxer with a pretty face – it's a disgrace to the sport."

Lily shook his head, but couldn't keep from smiling, and for a brief moment, the tension in the locker room lifted.

Then Gajeel shifted in his seat, and bit back a curse as the movement tugged at his stitches. Lily was at his feet in an instant, but he waved him away, grumbling under his breath. When the dizziness passed, he found his friend regarding him closely.

"What?"

Lily shook his head. "I was just wondering how many more years in the service of that loon before it kills you."

"At this rate, not many."

"_Gajeel_."

"What?"

Lily was silent, but his look didn't change, and after a suffocatingly long moment under that sharp scrutiny, Gajeel sighed, but the sound was more weary than exasperated. "I need a favour," he said then.

If the question surprised him, Lily didn't show it. "What kind of favour?"

Gajeel met his gaze squarely. "If I don't come back from this," he began, and watched as Lily's brows furrowed sharply at the suggestion. But when he said nothing, he continued. "If the brat somehow bumps me off, I need your word that you won't go after Ivan."

Lily's shoulders stiffened, but still he said nothing. After a moment where he seemed to be turning the request over in his mind, he nodded, and Gajeel continued. "But if he goes after Shorty, I need you to make sure she gets away."

This, Lily did not hesitate to agree with. "Whatever means necessary?"

Gajeel nodded. "If the bastard so much as thinks about it..."

"You can hand him his ass yourself," Lily cut him off, and there was more conviction there than Gajeel thought Lily actually felt.

"Awfully confident, Lil."

"One of us has to be, what with your damn pessimistic outlook."

"_Realistic_, not pessimistic."

Lily snorted. "Sounds hella pessimistic to me. But you've got my word, nonetheless. I'll look out for your girl."

"She ain't my–"

"Well she ain't your _job_ anymore," he reminded him with a raised brow. "And yet the one thing you think about is keeping her safe?" He shook his head, dark eyes twinkling. "Awfully obsessive, for a _former_ bodyguard."

"...dry up."

Lily only grinned, rising from his seat. "I'm just saying it the way it is, Gajeel – you've got it bad. There ain't nothing wrong with that."

Gajeel didn't say anything, because what the hell was he supposed to say to that, anyway? There wasn't much he could do about it, in any case, even if he survived. Turning for the door, Lily cast one last look back at him.

"I'll go see what I can dig up for the pain – don't _move_."

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "Yes, _mother_."

"Don't sass me, _boy."_

"Don't be such a worry-wart."

"So help me, Gajeel Redfox, I'll dump your ass at Porlyusica's after this match is over. And she's a hella lot worse than whatever the Cheney kid can throw at you."

Gajeel snorted, but there was no humour in the remark – only a heavy, underlying fear that only served to remind him of the shit he was in. "Let's hope you get the chance," was all he said, and surprisingly, Lily didn't argue with that. It was more optimistic than what he was really feeling, anyway, and his friend seemed to accept it was the best he'd get. Turning to the doorway, he stopped with his hand on the handle.

"Gajeel."

"_What_?"

Lily smirked, and the action was more bitter than wry. "I won't pretend to understand her actions, but if she's got as much baggage as you claim she does, there might be a good reason for why she had you fired."

Gajeel snorted. "I've got ten times more baggage than she'll have in a _lifetime_ – the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Lily only shook his head, and his grip tightened on the doorhandle. "All I'm saying is, regardless of her actions, there's probably a reason behind them. If I were you, I'd not be so quick to dismiss _her_."

"What, like protecting me? From _what_? I'm already knee-deep in Ivan's–"

"And perhaps she does not want to push you deeper? Did that ever occur to you?"

Gajeel closed his mouth, finding no immediate comeback. Lily sighed, and Gajeel had a feeling there was more to their exchange than his friend let on. And for a brief second, he wondered if perhaps he should have pried more regarding the older man's past. And he resolved that if he got through the match in relatively one piece, he'd ask. Because the haunted look Lily gave him was enough to make him reconsider everything he had ever thought he'd known about his friend.

"Listen, Gajeel," he began, and there was the tone to his voice again – the one that made him sound like he was two decades older and with the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Sometimes the best intentions achieve nothing but disaster. Take it from a veteran, and don't be an idiot about it."

Then he pushed his way through the door, and the sound of its creaking hinges was an eerie echo in his wake, leaving Gajeel to nurture his wound, as well as a chasm of unanswered questions.

* * *

"Ten minutes, Redfox."

He nodded absent-mindedly to the remark, and barely noticed the door swing shut, so immersed was he in his own thoughts. Seated still inside the locker rooms, he didn't even have to strain his ears to hear the buzz of the crowd that had gathered in the theatre. The sound seemed a constant thrum in the walls, and as he did before every match, Gajeel let it seep into his bones, drawing strength from the sheer anticipation of the people gathered to watch.

He had to win.

Placing a hand across the bandage, he grimaced at the still tender sensation. Between what he and Lily had been able to dig out from their respective reserves, he'd concocted a mix that had taken the sting off the wound and settled his fever to a manageable temperature, and even if he wasn't entirely sure it was such a good idea to be hopped up on drugs before a match, the alternative had seemed a lot worse. He wouldn't have lasted two seconds in the ring the way he had walked into the theatre – Lily had been proof enough of that.

Inhaling through his nose, Gajeel let his muscles relax, rolling his shoulders and concentrating on keeping his breathing even and the pain at bay. He'd fought injured before, the exercise of convincing himself that pain was an illusion was as familiar as the feel of tightly wrapped bandages around his knuckles. Clenching and unclenching his hands, he let his mind wander, knowing Lily would come and get him when the match was about to start. Now, he was alone and at peace to contemplate his predicament and the impending fight.

It couldn't possibly go over well. And that wasn't the pessimist in him – that was just the way things usually went when it concerned Ivan in one way or another. And to think, just a few days ago, he'd thought he'd had it tough juggling two jobs and trying to teach the shrimp how to shoot. Then he'd let his guard down, gotten shot, gotten _fired_, and somehow been roped into fighting his first official match in two years with a still healing gunshot wound.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, and fought a sudden urge not to laugh. It _was_ funny, in a dark and morbid kind of way. He just couldn't seem to catch a break. _All this because of a girl the size of a pint, _he though with a snort. A girl who wanted nothing to do with him, too. It would have been redeemable, at the very least, if he'd gotten something for his efforts other than a patronising pat on the back by the biggest fruitcake in town and a new set of stitches.

The door to the lockers creaked open and he looked up to see Lily walk inside, hands stuffed in his pockets and a grave expression on his scarred face. For some reason, his favourite gloves were slung around his neck, and they swayed with every step he took.

"You ready?" he asked as he stopped in front of Gajeel.

He nodded, rising to his feet, and he tried to refrain from feeling too much relief when the pain didn't send him stumbling. It was...bearable. Enough, perhaps, to get him through the match, if he could somehow keep from taking any punches anywhere near his midsection. He didn't know what kind of boxer the Cheney brat was, but he knew many who would love to find a weakness like his current one, and who'd have no scruples when it came to taking advantage of it. He would have to be careful not to let anything slip about his condition.

When he met his friend's gaze, Lily was looking at him. "Ain't gonna change my mind, Lil," he said with a sigh.

"I know," he replied, and there was more regret there than Gajeel was comfortable with, so he didn't push the subject. Thankfully, neither did Lily. "You got your gloves?"

Gajeel nodded, holding them up, and blinked when the older man snatched them away. "Oye–"

"Here."

His brows furrowed at the gloves offered. "You never let anyone borrow your gloves," he said, wondering what had come over the man.

Lily only smirked. "You're right," he said, proffering the gloves again. "I don't."

Gajeel frowned, but accepted them, turning them over in his hands. They were old, but in better shape than his own gloves were. It didn't take an expert to see they had been cared for, and _well_ – typical Lily, really, but something about them told Gajeel their good condition wasn't solely because of his friend's penchant for tidiness.

"Got them from someone special way back," Lily said when he looked up, shrugging his shoulders, and when Gajeel's eyes landed on the carved 'S' by the straps, his voice took on an almost solemn tone as he continued,

"They've brought me more luck than I've ever deserved."

He had no idea how to respond to that, but the significance of the gesture was far from lost on him. So he did the one thing he could, and the one thing he knew Lily would understand.

He smirked. "Let's hope they do somethin' for my botched up luck, then," he said. "Thanks, Lil."

Clapping a hand on his shoulder, Lily gave it a squeeze. "Good luck out there, kiddo."

"_Oye_, now–"

Lily grinned. "Just pullin' your leg," he said, before motioning to the doorway. "Time to get going – the crowd's waiting."

Gajeel nodded, grumbling under his breath, and tightening his grip on the gloves, followed Lily as he walked out of the locker rooms.

The near-deafening roar that greeted him upon his entrance was almost enough to take him aback, but he kept his expression neutral as he followed Lily down the walkway towards the raised platform and the ring that awaited him. Blood thundered in his ears in tandem with the cheers of the crowd, and he was strangely pleased to see the audience seemed to be made up of more of his own lot than fat cats. He knew Ivan was sitting somewhere with a good view, but didn't bother to look, channelling his attention rather on the path ahead of him. Approaching the dais, he nodded towards the referee, who returned the gesture. Lily turned and gave him a rough pat on the shoulder before he moved away to find a seat. Not wasting any time loitering, Gajeel swung himself up and onto the platform, and ignored the resulting sting in his side. Slipping in between the ropes, he turned for a quick survey of the crowd.

As he'd suspected, more than one member of Fairy Tail was present, although he couldn't see the old man anywhere. He couldn't see Natsu, either, which should have been dead easy with his hair. The same went for _her_, too, but any glimpses of blue he caught were from various hats. Grumbling under his breath, he shoved the thought away, willing his mind to focus on the task before him and not those watching. Slipping on the gloves in his hands, he had just finished tightening the straps when the crowd broke out into another roar – one that put his own greeting to shame.

Turning his gaze almost lazily towards the other end of the room, he watched as his opponent walked towards the dais, flanked by what could have been his brother, had it not been for the contrasting colour-schemes. As they came to the foot of the platform, he nodded to his companion, before letting himself up and slipping through the ropes.

Lily had been right – the kid was a genuine pretty boy. Skinny for Gajeel's weight class, and with an almost expressionless look on his face that made him strangely wary. And for a brief moment he regretted not having checked the brat out when he'd had the chance. Even with only a few hours, Juvia could probably have gotten him something useful. He hadn't even been in the ring with the kid for a minute, and already he was creeping him out with that damn detached expression...

Looking up, he met Gajeel's gaze–

"_Rogue_!"

And for an instant, the cold indifference shifted, and a smile stretched across his face as he leaned over the ropes to something at the foot of the dais. "Frosch, you didn't have to come." The reprimand was...oddly _fond_, for a man who looked like he could out-stare drying paint.

Following his gaze, Gajeel found a girl no older than Shorty, and with eyes just as big, grinning eagerly. "Frosch wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Reaching down through the ropes, he ruffled her hair. "I appreciate it."

"Good luck!"

Retracting his hand, he turned back to Gajeel, and his expression shifted immediately. "Gajeel Redfox. It's an honour," he greeted, and strangely enough, sounded like he meant every word.

Gajeel snorted. "I bet it is."

He quirked a smile. "I have been wanting to meet you in the ring since I first saw you fight. This _is_ an honour."

Gajeel said nothing to that, only tightened the strap on one of his gloves. "We'll see how much of an honour you think it is when it's over," he grumbled.

The brat had the nerve to nod, as though it was some ridiculously polite medieval duel, before he went to retrieve his gloves. When he turned back, there was a severity to his expression that told Gajeel that if he had ever entertained thoughts of the brat not taking things seriously, they would have been crushed rather violently.

The referee climbed in then, getting in between the two of them. Around the platform, the roar of the crowd was a thrum in the very walls of the building, reverberating through the floor and into his veins. Gajeel inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the sounds and the smells and the _feel_ that was unique to the ring.

"Are the participants ready?"

Gajeel snorted, hands clenching within his gloves. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of bright blue that he knew with a dead certainty was no mere _hat_, but despite the momentary distraction he kept his gaze firmly trained on his opponent.

"Bring it, punk."

* * *

AN: Yeah, Frosch is a girl in my head. I don't think that'll change, even if it turns out she's not.

**brown plaid**: scotch whiskey

**dry up**: shut up/get lost


	15. from the inside out

AN: It's time to lay the smackdown on a certain pretty-face.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XV**

"I'm just sayin' it's a bad time, is all. Geeze, you know what he's like! He ain't gonna be pleased!"

The voice drifting through the door to the common room made her halt with her hand on the doorknob. The usually playful tone had a sharp edge to it that Levy had only heard a handful of times since she'd arrived. Cana had a reputation for being fierce, and though she'd heard her give more than one person an earful in her short time in Fairy Tail, it had never sounded quite so...cutting. She almost sounded like she was berating someone.

"The boss gave me a job, Cana. If not now, then when? A lady should not be left unprotected," came the reply, and Levy's brows furrowed. She didn't recognise the voice, but their topic of conversation was starting to make sense. Her heart sank as the thought settled – her new bodyguard. Of course Makarov wouldn't have waited long to find someone else, even if he'd disagreed with her choice to let Gajeel go.

The last thought left a bitter taste to her mouth, and her grip tightened around the handle. She hadn't told anyone about her decision, let alone her reasons for making it. After he'd brought her back to Fairy Tail, she'd gone to take a bath, and promptly stayed in her room for the remainder of the day and the following morning and afternoon. Now it was getting late, and it was the first she'd been downstairs in over a day. Perhaps it had been the coward's escape, but she really hadn't been up for a confrontation with the man. She knew what that could have led to, and she knew her heart well enough to know she wouldn't have been able to walk away if anything had happened.

Of course, she'd briefly entertained the thought of him seeking her out – to come breaking down her door and demanding an explanation. But she'd smothered it as quickly as it had appeared. What good would her decision have been, if she'd just gone back on it in the end? And he hadn't come to find her, anyway. In fact, she hadn't seen a glimpse of him since he'd brought her in yesterday. When Lucy had brought her a tray for breakfast, she'd asked what had gotten into him, as he'd almost run her over on his way out of the speakeasy. He'd been even ruder than usual, too, and had this been any other time, Levy would have rolled her eyes and told her that he was probably just being his usually grumpy self. But instead she'd simply shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. Because what could she have said? She knew what had happened – knew he'd spoken to Makarov and been dismissed. And although the fact that he'd stormed off in anger made her strangely pleased, the fact that he'd walked away without a word just served to underline the fact that they were _through._ He had nothing more to say to her, and she had no right to say anything else to him after what she'd done, and that was the end of it. Makarov had gotten her a new bodyguard, and she would not insult his kindness this time by complaining. She was, however, going to make sure _this_ relationship stayed strictly professional.

She only hoped her new escort had the same courtesy.

Inhaling through her nose, she twisted the handle, and entered the room without further hesitation, her head held high. She held back her surprise at the empty room – usually at this hour of the day the place was bustling with people preparing for the night's events, but save for the two people at the bar it was completely devoid of life. At her entrance, two heads swivelled around to look at her, and she fought to keep her composure at the unashamedly roving glance the newcomer gave her.

He was...handsome. There was no reason to deny it. Not precisely her type, but he was certainly looking very smart in his crisp suit and vest. He was more lean than muscular, and a head of wild russet-gold hair peeked out from under the hat he was wearing. To be frank, he looked like someone her father could have picked out for her – the son of a wealthy business mogul. Certainly not a hired bodyguard or a bootlegger.

But then, this was Fairy Tail, and the normal order of things meant next to nothing to these people.

Swallowing, Levy started forward, gaze meeting Cana's briefly. She looked none-the-pleased as she leaned against the counter, a cigarette holder at her frowning mouth. Despite the quite obvious lack of customers, she was dressed to the nines as always, in dark colours and a headband with black gleaming stones. Averting her eyes at the glare she was served, Levy turned them instead on the stranger. His mouth curved into a pleased smile, and he nodded – the action strangely...chivalrous, in light of the leer he'd given her.

"You must be the young lady," he greeted as she came to stand before the bar. He held out a hand, and as she offered hers tentatively, caught it smoothly with a kiss that almost startled her right out of her shoes. "A pleasure," he purred, and Levy could only gape, not quite knowing how to respond to such an introduction.

Cana's snort broke her out of her stupor, and she quickly snatched her hand back. "Pleased to meet you, too," she managed to say without sounding like a complete sap, and the man only grinned, finding her reaction amusing, no doubt. She blushed, embarrassment curling in her stomach, and averted her eyes. What was the matter with her?

"You done being an idiot?" Cana drawled, and the man's grin widened.

"In your eyes, baby vamp, I will always be an idiot," he said with a wink, and she only rolled her eyes, but her smile was strangely warm.

"Glad you've got that much insight, at least. Now scram! I've got stuff to do, and the old man had a few things to discuss with you. Or are ya gonna keep him waitin' like one of yer skirts?" she raised a challenging brow, leaning on the bar. "He's in his office in posh town, and the last time I checked, _you_ didn't have a car."

The man sighed. "Always so harsh, Cana. One day you'll come around," he said, flashing her another smile. Turning his gaze on Levy, who was watching the interaction curiously, he tipped his hat elegantly. "No doubt we'll be seeing more of each other. Until then, I bid you good day, Miss Levy," he said in his smooth voice, before he was off, striding towards the exit and leaving the two of them alone.

When he was gone, Levy blinked, turning her gaze on the woman behind the bar...and promptly felt like turning away again. Cana had the kind of penetrating look that was no doubt used to wheedle information out of weak-hearted fools, and with the furrowed brows it made Levy feel like a naughty child that had been caught making mischief.

"So..." she began, swallowing as Cana stared her down. "Who...?"

After what felt like an age, Cana's gaze softened, and an almost sardonic smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That," she began. "Was our resident drugstore cowboy, and _your_ new bodyguard, unless I'm mistaken?" There was a distinct edge to her voice at her last remark, and Levy winced.

"I thought as much," she murmured. She knew Cana was a good friend of Gajeel's, even if the man had denied it vehemently when she'd asked, but she'd spent enough time with him to tell his actual insults from the ones he delivered out of some warped form of camaraderie. No doubt her dismissal didn't sit well with the woman, especially considering the fact that she'd given no reasons for her actions. And, of course, Cana had been subtly trying to set them up since Levy had first walked into Fairy Tail, and she knew her schemes hadn't just been for the fun of it. She'd been serious.

As she met her gaze again, Levy felt some of the tension leave her when Cana sighed. "Listen, dollface," she began, running a hand over her forehead. "I ain't gonna pry into yer beeswax. I know you've got yer reasons, and I'll just assume ya know what yer doin'."

Levy only nodded, although it felt half-hearted even to herself. She _did_ have her reasons, but as to knowing what she was doing...

Levelling her with another look, Cana pointed the hand holding her cigarette at her. "But I'll also have you know I've known Gajeel Redfox since he first stalked through those doors, and I ain't never seen him so furious as when he threw them off their hinges this mornin'. I don't know _what_ happened between ya, doll, but ya need ta figure it out. Rumours have been goin' around about the two of you since ya came here, and this ain't gonna make it any better. Hell, half the damn people in this joint were bettin' on the two of you hitting it off."

Her features darkened as she leaned closer. "Now, I may like ya, sweetness, but if you've been leadin' him on..."

Levy shook her head. "It's not like that." And despite the regret welling up inside her, her voice was surprisingly fierce as she spoke.

Cana only looked at her again, and said nothing. Then she shrugged. "I'll take yer word for it, then. Can't say I understand _why, _but by the grummy look on yer face I'm guessin' it wasn't your optimal choice," she sighed with a shake of her head. "Damn idiots, the both of ya," she grumbled.

And Levy felt like hugging her. In a moment of startling impulse, she felt like crawling across the counter and giving Cana a hug for simply...understanding without asking difficult questions. She'd never had a very close friendship with the woman before her introduction to Fairy Tail, and other than the occasional social gathering where both their fathers had been attending, they'd rarely spoken. And if they had, it had always been with just a few words regarding polite topics. Truth be told, Levy had found her very...dull. She'd had no opinions about anything. All she'd done was sit idly by herself, drink her tea and smile demurely at the men complimenting her for her looks and for being such a good daughter.

Now, seeing her down a glass of scotch with less effort than she'd seen seasoned men do, a cigarette holder between her slender fingers, Levy wondered if it hadn't perhaps been something more than just tea in her cup during those gatherings. Knowing Cana as she did now, it wasn't hard to imagine her smuggling in a little something to keep herself entertained. Having learned what she was really capable of also had her wondering if her demure attitude hadn't just been to make her father look good, but because no one would think twice about discussing topics they thought would simply go over her head when she was in the room. The ploy as the indolent heiress had no doubt earned her an ear into more than one shady deal between her father's associates. It was more than Levy could attest to, anyway, having been as good as left in the dark since her début.

And not for the first time, Levy found a sense of near staggering gratitude that she'd been given a chance to see a different side of the world than the one she'd grown up in. A world she was now reluctant to leave behind, even if she would eventually have to, one way or another. She couldn't go on enjoying herself when there were people like Ivan Dreyar lounging behind the scenes, pulling his strings and disrupting lives like it was all part of some sort of twisted game.

Catching her dark look, Cana raised a brow. "Thinkin' deep thoughts?"

Levy shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "A little too deep, perhaps."

Cana smirked, pushing a glass towards her. "Well, I'll drink to lighter thoughts then," she said with a tip of her own glass. Placing it down onto the counter, she took a drag of her cigarette, and a comfortable silence settled between them as Levy sipped her drink. The late afternoon sun had dropped behind the rooftops, and the lights had been switched on inside, casting a warm glow over the main room. It looked ready to be opened – the tables were neatly arranged and the bar was as tidy as ever. In the corner the house band's instruments waited to be picked up, and the still atmosphere was interrupted only by the melodic tunes from an old gramophone propped at the far end of the bar. Cana's prized possession, which she usually sung along to when she was in a good mood, or unashamedly drunk. She was far from being as good as Mira, but she had a husky kind of voice that Levy enjoyed listening to.

She wasn't singing now, though. Only nipping at her cigarette with a thoughtful look on her face that had Levy fidgeting in her seat. After a moment where she simply stared, Cana's mouth curved into a small smile. "So what did ya think of him?" she asked, quite out of the blue.

Levy blinked. "Huh? Oh. The...ah..."

Cana's smile turned wry. "We call 'im Loke, but he goes by several names. Well, most of us do, in this line of work."

Levy nodded. "Loke. He...he seemed very...nice."

Cana snorted. "Well, that's something new. I can't tell ya I understand why the old man chose _him_ of all people, but he probably has his reasons. He's a regular cake-eater, that fella. I'd keep a tight grip on your heart around 'im," she warned, before she snorted. "Although by the looks of things, I'm guessing you've already made that mistake." There was a wry smile on her face, and Levy didn't miss the subtle jab.

She sighed, looking into her glass and the swirling liquid. "I didn't plan to, you know," she mumbled.

Cana snorted. "No one ever does, and that's when it strikes the hardest. Like cheap hooch. Can't see it comin', but BAM, yer zozzled." She shook her head, sipping her drink.

Levy said nothing to that, only turned her glass over in her hands. "He'll never forgive me," she said, and though the fact physically hurt to admit, her voice was strangely resigned.

Cana was silent, and when Levy looked up, there was a strange look on her face. Sympathetic, almost. She looked away, hands clenching around the glass. Finally, she spoke, "I'm guessin yer not up for the match, then," she declared. "I wanted to go, but someone's got to keep things in order when its over and they all come barging through the doors." She sighed, almost wistfully. "Although that'll be one hell of a fight. Damn, I wish I could see it."

Levy blinked. "Fight? What fight?"

Cana looked surprised. "You've been up in yer room all day, doll? Yer man's going up against Sabertooth's biggest prize. It's the fight of the year!"

Levy hadn't noticed the glass slip before it crashed against the floor, shattering across the hardwood. Cana let out an indignant curse, but she barely noticed. _"Gajeel_ is fighting? _Today_?"

She raised a brow. "As we speak is more like it. Hell, why did ya think this place was such a graveyard? The whole damn city would pay to see that fight."

Levy couldn't think straight – couldn't process properly what Cana was telling her. All she could think was that Gajeel had been shot. _Two days ago. _

And now he was going to _fight_?

"The hell's got ya lookin' like that, pet? Ya look like someone pulled the rug out from under ya," Cana said. Her surprise was gone, replaced with genuine worry.

"Cana, he was shot!"

She blinked, genuinely taken aback, which was a rare sight. "Come _again_?"

Sliding off her stool and stepping up to the counter, Levy placed her hands on the edge. "Gajeel was _shot_. Two days ago! Last I saw him he could barely _walk_ straight, and you're telling me he's going in the _ring_?"

Cana's brows furrowed as sharply as they'd shot upwards, and she slammed her palm down onto the countertop, making Levy jump. "That fuckin' _idiot!"_ Discarding her cigarette, she came around the bar, and before Levy could get a hold of herself, the older woman had a tight grip around her wrist and was tugging her towards the main entrance.

"Wha- Cana–!"

"Wait here," she said, cutting her off, and promptly disposing of Levy at the entrance. "If we're lucky, we'll get there before he goes on." Then she turned for the door, grumbling to herself, "I swear I'll beat that fool so hard he'll be beggin' for the ring when I'm done with him!"

"But we don't even know _where_–"

"The amphitheatre. The big one by the river," Cana cut her off, and Levy could only gape.

"But that's halfway across the city! We'll never make it in time!"

Halfway out the door, Cana turned her head, shooting Levy a confident grin. Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

"Not if we go on foot."

* * *

Driving with Cana, Levy realized, was nothing like driving with her father's chauffeur.

"Outta my damn way, ya bleedin' loafers!"

With a hand on her hat and a white-knuckled grip on the edge of her seat, Levy refrained from squeezing her eyes shut as the car cut another bend with more speed than was probably allowed in such a populated area. But Cana didn't seem to care as she hit the pedals like they'd personally insulted her, and Levy yelped as one of the wheels hit a raised stone in the cobbled street and sent the vehicle rocking dangerously.

"Cana!"

"Know what I'm doin', doll. Keep yer panties on."

Hissing through her teeth as they narrowly avoided hitting another pedestrian, followed by a bellowed remark from Cana about 'stayin' on the damn pavement. It's there for a bloody reason!', Levy wondered how much longer before she lost both her lunch and her drink. She'd been in a car on several occasions with her father, but it had never been like this...this hazardous venture that would no doubt serve to get _someone_ killed. If not them, then some innocent passer-by who wouldn't know what hit him before he was sprawled in the street. Then again, part of her reasoned, as Cana swung the automobile into a side-street, they _were_ in a hurry. And there was no way they would get there in time if they were going to abide by the rules.

She just hoped they'd get there _intact_.

"Almost there, doll. I'll stop long enough for ya to get out, and then I'll find somewhere to park. You go in and see what ya can do. Turn those eyes on him or somethin' – that'll do the trick. If he ain't gone in the ring before I get there, ya can promise him I'll hand him his ass on a platter. And I won't be usin' gloves!"

Levy only nodded, unable to say anything else. They'd left in such a hurry, she hadn't had time to actually think about what she was going to do when she got to the theatre. All she'd been able to think about since Cana had told her about the match was that Gajeel was going in the ring with a newly stitched wound in his side. She'd seen him after his spars with Lily, and then he'd been in top shape, and the spars had been mostly for fun. This was a real match, and though there were rules, she'd learned enough about the sport from Natsu and Lily to know that they weren't always followed, and that matches had a tendency to become more than a little bloody.

Her hand gripped the edge of her seat, and she bit down on her lip. There had to be something fishy about the fight. Gajeel wasn't an idiot. He might be stubborn to a fault and the single most arrogant man she'd ever met, but she knew he'd never have willingly agreed to go in the ring with a wound like that. If not to keep from humiliating himself, then to preserve his health, however little regard he had for it. He didn't have an active wish to die, as far as she knew. That meant someone had leverage on him, and Levy would bet her entire lost fortune that Ivan was behind it all. It had to be. It certainly wasn't Makarov, although she had no idea why the old man hadn't done anything to stop it. She'd told him about what had happened, and he knew the state Gajeel was in. And if it was the biggest fight of the year, there was no way a man who had eyes and ears all over the city hadn't heard about it.

Unless he, too, knew something Levy didn't. She didn't have enough insight into Gajeel's life or his job to know exactly what Ivan might have on him, but if it was important enough to force him, injured, into a match with one of the top boxers in the city, then she didn't even want to know what it was. Especially if it was enough to convince even Makarov to keep out of it.

As they sped down the narrow streets, taking turns and side-streets Levy didn't even know existed, she willed herself to be calm. She would find a way to deal with it. If they reached the theatre before the match began, she'd do whatever it took to keep him from fighting. If not...

"Here we are! Go get 'im, dollface!"

Cana had barely stopped the car before Levy had thrown the door open, and she stumbled out, the momentum nearly sending her tumbling along the cobblestones. As she slammed the door behind her, Cana hit the gas and was off, and Levy all but bolted for the entrance.

At the edge of the Magnolia river, the lit amphitheatre loomed alongside the smaller buildings nestled beside it. Having grown up in the inner city, Levy had seen it many times, but never been inside. Boxing had never been her father's preference, and so she'd never had the chance, but it was famous for having housed some of the best fights in the city. And where on another day she would have loved to take in the grandeur of the exterior, Levy wasted no time lingering outside as she made straight for the front doors.

One of the two men standing at the entrance gave a quick glance at her dishevelled appearance, but despite the state of her clothes, there was no denying the quality of the fabrics. And even if she'd ambled up to them with all the grace of a drunkard, Levy pulled on all the grace of her upbringing as an heiress as she squared her shoulders.

"The fight's already begun, Miss," one of them informed her. Her heart sunk into her stomach, but she kept her composure.

"May I still come in? I...I know one of the participants."

He quirked a brow at that, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Indeed? Well, you're not the first."

She bit down on her lip, helpless fury curling around her heart. She felt like screaming. "_Please_."

"Come on, Wakaba, don't be such a wet blanket! Let the girl in," the other man spoke up, a smirk on his face. He had grey streaks in his hair and a kind look about him. He gave Levy a wink.

His companion shot his partner a look, before he shrugged. "Well, I can't guarantee you a seat..."

She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. Just...please. I...I promised I'd be there. I'm just a little late..." she didn't even know what she was saying. All she knew was that she had to get inside.

Then the man smiled, and relief soared through her as he pushed one of the doors open far enough for her to slip inside. "Ah, why not? I don't see the harm in letting a little lady have a look at her heartthrob. Go on in."

"Thank you," she breathed, slipping past them and through the door. As she entered, his next remark to his companion reached her ears.

"Damn, that Cheney kid sure's got a lot of pretty fans. I'd be nice to be young a fit again, wouldn't it, Macao? To be in the ring in stead of out here, like some–"

His voice was cut off as the door closed behind her, and Levy all but ran down the hall to the next set of doors. There was a bustle of commotion on the other side, and a gasp caught in her throat as she pushed the doors to the theatre open.

It was _packed_.

There was no other way of putting it. Like sardines nestled in a tin can, there were people _everywhere_. Some were seated, but most seemed to be standing around the elevated platform in the middle of the room. And at the sight of it, her heart jumped, pushing into her throat, and a relief so staggering she couldn't even breathe coursed through her. It was _empty_. The fight hadn't begun. She wasn't too late.

"Levy!"

Turning her head, she made out Lucy's shape as she pushed towards her, manoeuvring through the throng of people. She was in a blue and white dress, and a pretty dark blue hat covered her distinctive blonde hair – no doubt in case she ran into any of her father's acquaintances. Natsu was at her elbow, his hair a bright beacon that made the colours around him seem almost dull. There was an excited grin on his face.

"Hey, Levy, you made it! Luce said you weren't coming!"

Levy blinked, and then she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. "Natsu! Gajeel! Where is he?"

Natsu looked puzzled at her frantic query, and a bit amused. "He's in the lockers. He's about to go in the ring."

"Take me there!"

"Uh..."

"What's going on?" Lucy cut in, her brows furrowed. "Do you need to see him _now?_ Can't it wait until after the match?"

Levy shook her head, frustrated that she had to explain, as she was losing precious time she could have used to find Gajeel. But she knew that if she was going to get anywhere, she'd need Natsu's help. You couldn't just go barging into men's locker rooms. Well, Cana Clive probably could, but then, Levy wasn't Cana Clive.

"I can't let him fight, Lucy. He's–"

"What are you talking about? This is the biggest fight the city's seen in _months_! Gajeel–"

"He's been shot!" Levy hissed, cutting him off. "Two days ago, when he was taking me home, he was _shot_. He's got a newly stitched wound in his side, and now he's–"

The sudden roar of approval drowned her words, and her heart lurched in her throat, and suddenly she couldn't move. Frozen in place, she could only watch as the object of her distress came into her line of sight across the crowded room. Around her the audience cheered loudly, and the screech of a microphone cut her ears as the commentator made a few remarks that were all but drowned out in the clamour. She couldn't move, because there he was, walking down towards the dais, following Lily – _Lily_, who surely knew what was going on. How could he not, he who knew Gajeel better than anyone? But if he did know, how could he be letting him go through with it?

Time seemed to slow down to an almost lethargic pace, and the noise around her became a drone in her ears, reverberating through her as the blood in her veins turned cold as ice. She saw Lily pat him on the shoulder, before Gajeel swung himself up into the ring. He wore a shirt – fresh, clean and white. She couldn't make out the bandage at all, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. It didn't make the wound any less serious, only hidden. Was that his plan? For no one to know about the wound? Hadn't a medic checked him over?

Her questions went unanswered, for the only person who could answer them was pacing his corner in the ring – a place that felt further away than just halfway across a room. The people between them and the raised platform seemed like miles to Levy, and she might as well have been halfway across Fiore for her chance of reaching him. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she practically shook with repressed anger as she watched him survey the crowd. He didn't cater to the cheering audience, but then, he wasn't that type of person. Theatrics was probably more Natsu's thing. Gajeel merely looked around him, taking in the people gathered with a searching look on his face.

Then the room roared again, and this time it was even louder than before – almost shaking the entire building with the sheer force of the noise. And Levy could only look on in an almost morbid fascination as the contester walked towards the raised dais from the other side of the room. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but had a dark robe slung around his shoulders. He was a very handsome man, she noted, detachedly. Leaner than Gajeel, and smooth rather than rugged. But the cheers from around her, and the calls from the surprising number of women gathered, left little doubt about his popularity.

She watched him climb into the ring, gaze intent on his opponent, before something caught his attention and he turned back to say something. A smile broke out on his face, breaking the façade, and he leaned down to...she couldn't tell what he did from her vantage point, but it was over before she could ponder what he'd done. Then he'd turned back, and she could see his lips move as she said something to Gajeel, who looked grim-faced and resolute where he stood in the opposite corner. A referee slipped between the ropes, and the startling realization that _this is happening_ seemed to hit her like a bullet. The horrible notion that this wasn't a bad dream, that he was really doing this and _there was nothing she could do to stop it _made her feel like bending over and emptying her stomach. Then someone bumped into her roughly, and she stumbled with a yelp, her hat falling to the floor. Before she could blink someone had stepped on it and it was lost amongst the people shuffling to get closer. Discarding it, she raised herself back up, and as she lifted her face back to the ring her breath stopped as she she caught his gaze.

But before she could blink he'd turned his eyes away, as though he hadn't seen her at all. And as he adjusted his position, her heart sank in her chest. A slender hand found hers and gripped it, and she thought she heard Lucy say something, but she could only stand in mortified silence, unable to even so much as think properly as she watched the two men get into their respective corners. All the while, the crowd cheered, and the announcer rambled along, his voice cutting through the din, but she couldn't hear what he was saying.

People had gathered on the edge of the platform on each corner. Behind Gajeel she spotted Lily, and another man she recognized from her brief visit to the Pit – Mirajane's brother. They were conferring, and Gajeel nodded, although he never took his eyes away from his opponent.

"It's time for the Iron Fist to shake off some rust! Ladies and gentlemen, Gajeel Redfox!"

The crowd cheered, but all Gajeel did was straighten his shoulders. There was no smile on his face, and he looked more determined than confident. Levy wondered if his fabled arrogance would have been more visible, if it hadn't been for the wound in his side. She wondered what he was thinking about the odds – did he think he had a chance to win? Or was he knowingly and willingly throwing his life away?

"And in the opposite corner, the rising star of the ring, Rouge Cheney!"

If possible, the man was even less audience-sensitive than Gajeel, and didn't even lift a brow at the sheer panic that broke out at the mere mention of his name. To be honest, Levy didn't understand how a crowd could run so wild over a pair of fighters who looked so grim-faced, and acted like nothing existed outside the ring. She'd thought part of the sport was putting on a show, but it looked like she was wrong.

Although she had a feeling they would all be getting one hell of a show, either way.

Then the bell rang, and the clang of it felt like a smack to the face, and a scream lodged in her throat as the fight began. She gripped Lucy's hand tightly, and felt a combination of fear and anger overtake her. Her entire form shook with it, but she could do nothing, and the helplessness was the worst of all. Knowing there was nothing she could do to prevent the match from happening. She could turn around and walk away, but it wouldn't change a thing. He would still be there, injured and fighting. For _what?_ She didn't even know, but she found that she didn't care. And there was the anger again, flaring up with a vengeance. She didn't care what idiotic reason he was putting his life on the line for, and she'd give him a piece of her mind when she got her hands on him. Cana could just line right up – she could have the leftovers when Levy was finished with him.

They circled each other first, and the tension brimming between them was palpable even from across the room. Neither seemed in any immediate hurry, and each seemed intent on waiting for the other to make the first move. All the while, the incessant chatter of the commentator drifted from the microphone. Levy tuned it out as best as she could, focusing in stead on the men in the ring. One man in particular, whose imposing form was clearly visible above the heads of the people in front of her. To Gajeel's credit, if it hadn't been for the fact that she knew he was injured, she would never have guessed he was anything but in tip-top shape. There was nothing that even indicated he was in pain, other than the sweat on his brow, but that might as well be from the glaring lights overhead. He seemed in complete control, and his iron composure left no doubt that he'd done this before.

As for Levy, she didn't know a thing about boxing other than that the goal was to knock your opponent unconscious, and that there were certain rules as to how to do just that. Strength was imperative, but so was speed and agility. With more years on his back and the fact that he was a good deal more built than his rival, Levy hoped it would be enough to help him win, and keep the match as short as possible. Of course, it wishful thinking – she doubted there would have been such a fuss if Rogue Cheney had been just a regular boxer. With the way he held himself and the calculating look on his face, she feared experience and strength alone wouldn't be enough to win.

In the end, it was Gajeel who moved first. Unsurprising, really, because even if he wasn't particularly impulsive, the other man looked like he could have out-lasted just about anyone by the nearly bored look on his face. Seemingly sick of loitering, Gajeel shot forward, making a quick jab which Rogue evaded without much effort, but then he caught the younger man off guard by taking another immediate step forward and landing a solid punch to his jaw, sending him staggering back. The crowd erupted into shouts and whistles, and Levy's heart jumped in her chest.

"_Yikes_! That's going to leave one hell of a bruise! Nothing less from our legendary Iron Fist!" the announcer remarked with a chortle, and Levy would have bet a hefty sum that Gajeel had rolled his eyes at the comment.

Of course, it would take more than a well-aimed punch to knock out Rogue Cheney, and without pause he was back, this time on the offensive. He faked a punch like she'd seen Lily do once, to which Gajeel easily kept out of the way, but then he managed to land one squarely to the side of his jaw, making him take an involuntary step back as his head snapped to the side.

"HO! The rookie retaliates! Straight to the jaw, too. Iron strength or not, that had to _hurt_!"

Then the bell rang again, and Levy startled, wondering idly what was happening when the two retreated to their corners, where there were people waiting. "First round is over," Natsu said from somewhere near her shoulder, and she nodded detachedly. He sounded oddly grave, and when she sneaked a glance at him, his brows were furrowed, giving his normally cheerful expression an ominously dark look.

Breathing in through her nose, Levy turned her attention back just in time for the bell to ring, and then they were at it again. This time with more vigour, it seemed, for Rogue spent no time stalling as he had the first round. Instead he made straight for Gajeel, who blocked the first attack, took the next, and then evaded the third, taking a step back and keeping his suddenly eager opponent at a wary distance. Levy's heart thundered in her chest, and she clutched at Lucy's hand like a lifeline.

"He's doing fine," she heard her say, although there was even less conviction in her words than what Levy was feeling.

She drew in a shuddering breath, but just as the thought that perhaps it wasn't going so bad brushed against her mind, Rouge had taken two steps forward and aimed a punch towards Gajeel's ribs. And even if it had only taken a second – not even long enough for him to block or step out of the way – to Levy it felt like it had taken an age. From watching his gloved hand connect with the one place she'd prayed he'd be able to avoid taking any hits, to his face contorting in pain, her hand flew to her mouth to stop the scream. Natsu's sharp curse reached her ears, and Lucy made a strangled sort of sound, and Levy could only watch in horror as Gajeel staggered back. Surprised exclamations from the crowd erupted around them, and the commentator was unstoppable as he droned on in his eager chatter. No one had seen that coming – not the attack, and certainly not the response. At this rate someone was bound to see that something was wrong with him.

She didn't know what she'd expected him to do after that, but when he straightened back up with a snarl curling his mouth, Levy felt a relief that was so overwhelming she thought she might pass out. And though she knew the blow had to have felt like being shot all over again, Gajeel held himself as though Rogue had barely touched him. The audience chanted their approval, and before Levy could gather herself, the bell rang again. Time seemed to exclude her where she stood, surrounded in a sea of hats and coats and smoke and the smell of sweat. It seemed to go by so quickly, watching the two dance around each other, aiming punches, and then it slowed down to an almost agonizing pace as she watched Gajeel take more hits than he was dealing out. Her hands were shaking almost uncontrollably, and Lucy gripped her right one with enough force to bruise, but she didn't care. It felt beyond her, somehow. Like she was in a sphere of her own, shut out from everything around her.

She didn't know how much time passed as she stood there. The heat from the crowd was stifling, and the noise hurt her ears, but there wasn't a part of her that wasn't hurting, it seemed. Her heart hurt, and her lungs, because breathing, even, felt like an effort, and she was dizzy and felt absolutely sick to her stomach.

He took another hit to his ribs, just above the wound, and she almost thought he'd pass out by the pain that twisted his features. Some of his hair had come undone from it's cord, and it clung to his brow and neck, slick with sweat, but his expression was dark and fierce with determination, and he pushed forward even if it had to be killing him. And as each round ended, Lily was at his elbow, and only because she knew what to look for did Levy notice the near imperceptible way the older man checked the state of the bandage. They had to have wrapped it tight and several times, for there was no sign of blood. That fact was a comfort if she had ever known one, and she held onto it with all she had. There was little else she could do. That, and hope.

She had lost track of what round they were in. Not that she knew how many rounds there were in the first place, even though she could hear Natsu explain some of the rules to Lucy. He didn't have his usual eagerness like the day he'd taken them to the Pit – it almost felt like he was talking simply to have something to occupy himself. He didn't even seem to be aware of what he was saying – just reciting rules like he was reading from some sort of book.

Levy still had her eyes locked firmly on Gajeel, who was evading a round of continuous punches, when Rogue suddenly aimed a blow that sent his head rebounding, and he stumbled backwards. The other man was persistent, and followed with more close punches, forcing him into one of the corners. The crowd cheered and called and clapped and Levy could only watch in horror as Gajeel took each of the hits.

"Damn it, Gajeel – the hell are you doin'?! Get outta there!" Natsu suddenly bellowed from beside her, startling her out of her skin. It burst through her stupor, and suddenly the helplessness faded, replaced by a wave of fervour, and when he finally broke out of the corner, giving the younger man a well-aimed smack to the face, Levy was screaming along with the crowd. She caught Natsu's bewildered expression from the corner of her eye, but it was only there for a moment before it melted into an eager grin, and he yelled something incoherent but seemingly encouraging towards the ring. She didn't think Gajeel could hear either of them over the din, caught in his own concentration, but Levy knew that standing around wallowing wasn't helping him in the least. And screaming at the top of her lungs made her feel better than drowning in her own grief, anyway. And it didn't matter that it was horribly improper for a lady to yell obscenities at a boxing match – from the looks of it, she was standing in the part of the crowd that could probably care less, anyway.

And so she yelled along with the others. When Rogue made a move that had the crowd bellowing "FOUL!" she joined them, even if she had no idea what it had meant. She heard Natsu explaining it, but his voice drowned in the clamour of demanding shouts and insults. Then the referee did something that made everyone cheer, and her breath caught as she noticed the small smirk tug on Gajeel's lips as he retreated back to his corner.

The next time he stepped out, there was an intent set to his shoulders and a quality to movements that left little room for doubt, even for her. He was looking to end the match. Advancing on his opponent, he directed punch after punch, each seemingly more forceful than the first, until the last swing had the smaller man careening back to land near the ropes. The audience went wild, some rising from their seats in their excitement, and the self-satisfied smirk was back as the referee started counting. But Rogue was back on his feet in a moment, a dark look on his face as he wiped away the blood trickling from his nose, and then the two met in the middle in what looked like a brawl. Levy watched with her heart in her throat, and when Rogue landed a hit a little too close to the wound, she felt her entire body recoil as though she'd taken the hit herself. It was physically painful to watch, but she couldn't for the life of her tear her eyes away.

Gajeel seemed to have come to the decision that things had to come to a close, because he wasted no time loitering now, and there was barely a pause between each hit as he advanced on his opponent. But when it seemed he'd gained the upper hand, one of his strikes missed, and the momentum had him stumbling. The opening was enough for Rogue to retaliate, and then it was Gajeel being pushed back towards one of the corners.

What happened next would give her nightmares for weeks.

There was a lull – at least it felt like that to Levy. A brief moment where nothing happened, and time seemed to have screeched to a halt. Then Rogue was pulling back his arm, but where she'd thought he'd aim a blow to the jaw, he angled it in the last moment, landing at hit straight to Gajeel's injured side. The force of the blow sent him crashing into the ropes, and she saw him make a grab for them, but his gloved hands merely slipped, and he hit the floor with enough force to make the sound ring out over the din.

She might have screamed, but she couldn't hear herself over the crowd. All she could seem to take in was his still shape slumped against one of the corner-poles – a glimpse through the heads blocking her view. Then the referee was counting, and each number felt like a physical blow as she listened, willing him to get up. But the numbers ticked away, and he hadn't moved, and she was shaking and tears were pressing against the backs of her lids as she wondered if he was even alive–

"–Seven. _Eight_–"

The call was cut off when he suddenly hauled himself back up, and Levy's heart lurched into her throat. He held himself unsteadily against the ropes, and his hair was all out of its cord now, falling about his shoulders in a thick, dark mass, giving him an almost animalistic look. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his mouth and from somewhere near his hairline, and the image seared itself onto her mind's eye like a brand. The audience roared, but Levy didn't have the voice to join in.

Then he was back in the corner, and Lily was gripping his shoulder, looking simultaneously outraged and relieved. They exchanged a few words, and Gajeel wiped his face with a towel and refastened his hair before the bell had him back in the ring. And she knew, watching him raise himself to his full height, although he now very clearly seemed to favour his left side, that this was his last round. And if he took any more hits like _that_...

There was a grim look on his face as he started towards his opponent this time, and there was no hesitation behind his movements as he made a lunge towards him, catching him in a grip and sending a quick succession of punches to his ribs, before ducking away and landing another one square to his jaw. The blow sent the other man stumbling back, and before he'd had a chance to gather himself, Gajeel was on him again, one blow after another, driven by a desperation that was morbidly fascinating to watch.

She wondered idly, as she watched him pummel the younger man with a fierce aggression she hadn't though him capable of after he'd gone down the way he had, how long Rogue would have lasted if Gajeel hadn't been injured.

Throwing his entire weight into his next attack, Gajeel must have known it would be his last, because he barely caught himself from falling after delivering it. Rogue took it to the side of his face, and Levy could only watch with wide eyes as his head seemed to snap sideways with an unnatural bounce, before the rest of his body followed as he sprawled on the floor. The referee was beside him a second later, counting, and the entire room seemed to hold their collective breath as the numbers ticked by. Even the commentator was silent.

Then the last number was called out, and the crowd soared to their feet, stamping and cheering, the noise so deafening it seemed to crash over her like a wave. And above the bedlam the incessant ringing of the bell and the excited voice of the announcer reached her ears.

"The winner, ladies and gentlemen – _Gajeel Redfox!" _

The man himself was standing in the middle of the ring, grinning for the first time since the start of the match. Levy kept her grip on Lucy's hand, feeling very much like her legs might give out from underneath her. From beside them, Natsu was yelling at the top of his lungs and pumping his fist along with the rest of the audience, and despite the situation, Levy felt a trembling grin split her face.

"He made it! The son of a bitch won a match with a gunshot-wound!" Natsu sounded both bewildered and impressed all at once, and Levy could only smile. Lucy's arm came around her shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

"It's not over yet," she said, and Levy quickly sobered. And as she watched Lily help him down from the platform, and Gajeel swat irritatingly at the notepads waved in his direction by the gathered journalists, the euphoric joy from the victory drained away, leaving only simmering anger. Her brows narrowed as she caught him slipping through the crowd towards the doors at the other end of the room, much to the chagrin of his eager enthusiasts. And despite her earlier thought about needing Natsu for an escort, Levy found she couldn't really give a damn. Releasing her grip on Lucy's hand, she started forward, determination in her step as she pushed through the people gathered and ignoring the curious remarks of her companions as she left them in her wake. She might not be Cana Clive, but if Fairy Tail had taught her anything, it was that it didn't matter who she was or where she came from. If she wanted to barge into a man's private locker room and give him a piece of her mind, then that was _exactly_ what she was going to do.

Propriety be _damned_.

* * *

AN: Poor Gajeel. If he thought _Rogue_ was a tough opponent...

**drugstore cowboy**: a well-dressed man who loiters in public areas trying to pick up women.

**cake-eater**: ladies' man

**zozzled**: drunk

**grummy**: depressed


	16. cash or check?

AN: The ring was just a warm-up.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XVI**

Victory, it would seem, hadn't been so far out of his reach as he'd imagined.

"Mr. Redfox! Mr. Redfox!"

He barely paid the persistent journalist any mind as he let Lily usher him towards the lockers. His pulse was hammering a mile a minute and as he cut a path through the cheering crowd, the brief thought struck him that he almost couldn't feel any pain from the wound. That probably wasn't very healthy, but it was difficult to think about the injury when he had just beaten the shit out of the city's new little favourite, and damn it if it hadn't felt fucking _amazing_.

"A word, Mr. Redfox! For the papers!"

"Beat it," he snapped, shoving past the little man with more force than probably necessary, and sending him stumbling back to be swallowed by the other people milling around him and Lily. His friend's annoyance was palpable, and Gajeel felt a smirk tug the corners of his mouth upwards. For all his fretting, the fight had been pretty swell. Well, not entirely _swell _– there'd been a point where he was sure he'd passed out, but it had only been for a moment, and he'd hauled himself up before the referee had finished his count. And he was still alive and kicking, although he was pretty sure his wound was bleeding through the bandage. But from the catastrophe it could have been, it had gone fucking splendidly. He'd handed the brat his ass on a platter, had looked damn good while doing it. Although he was still off his nuts, Ivan would be happy, and Shorty would be safe.

Well, as safe as he could keep her, considering she wasn't technically his responsibility anymore.

Irritation seeped through the euphoria at the thought the old man had no doubt gotten her a new lapdog by now. It could be just about anyone from his wide range of acquaintances, but Gajeel felt that it didn't really matter, because he was determined to hate the fucker regardless.

His current train of thought had as good as driven out what remained of his victorious buzz, and he was reacquainted rather violently with the bleeding wound in his side. Clenching his jaw, Gajeel pushed his way through the crowd, determination driving him forward as he crossed the last few steps towards the lockers. The eager babble of the crowd seemed to rise in volume as he neared the doors, and he felt something akin to desperation claw at his insides as he all but shoved his way through and into the calm of the locker room. Stalking across the cramped space, he made his way towards the old sink on the far end. He heard Lily enter behind him and close the doors, effectively cutting off the noise from outside and leaving behind a muffled murmur of voices and shuffling of chairs and feet.

Sighing, he leaned his weight against the sink. Every limb felt heavy and lethargic, and the wound throbbed incessantly, making it difficult to stand upright. Reaching a hand behind his neck, he tugged his hair loose from the cord, letting it fall free and finding some comfort in the momentary relief. Soaking a rag with water, he placed the cooled cloth against his forehead to soothe the fever that had never really left him, and was now giving him hell.

Footsteps approached from behind him, and then there was a hand on his shoulder, ushering him towards the bench. But where he'd usually swat the older man away with an irate grumble, Gajeel let himself be lead, too damn tired to argue, and he owed Lily much more than compliance, anyway. As he sat down, his stitches pulled, and he cursed loudly at the blinding pain that shot through his side. Lily said nothing as he turned to retrieve the first aid kit. Muttering under his breath, Gajeel unbuttoned his soaked shirt, chucking it to the floor before he started on the bandage. He'd been right – blood was seeping through, but it wasn't as bad as he'd first thought.

Then Lily's hands were swatting his away, and he was unrolling the bandage. Gajeel hissed as the gauze wrapping snagged against the drying blood.

"Sit still."

"The hell does it look like I'm doing?!"

Lily only gave him a dry look, but his frown was severe as he unwrapped the last of the bandage. Casting a quick survey of the wound, he hummed, the sound oddly pleased. "Not as bad as I'd thought. I won't have to restitch the entire thing," he explained, and without further preamble, got down to do just that.

Gajeel rubbed a hand across his forehead, grimacing at the feeling. He had a fever alright – he didn't think he'd had such a bad one since the last time he'd been shot. Of course, he hadn't gone in the ring immediately afterwards back then, so that might explain it. And then there was the fact that the brat had managed to land more than one punch a little too close to the wound. The thought was a sour one. Damn Sabertooth punks.

"The little fucker _aimed_," he snarled, hands twitching. "Probably caught on after I went down."

Lily gave him a dark look. "Had us all thinking you'd gone down for good."

Gajeel snorted. "Might've," he retorted, and cursed as Lily cuffed the back of his head, all without taking his eyes off his stitching.

"Humour not appreciated."

"Duly fucking _noted_."

Gajeel hissed as the needle pulled through his skin. "_Fuck_, I am _never_ getting shot again."

It was Lily's turn to snort. "Such wisdom."

"Shaddu-_fuck!_"

"Stop _squirming_."

Gajeel glared at the wall opposite, fingers twitching where they were clenched against the side of the bench. He usually bore his pain quietly, but having taken more than one punch to the wound and the area around it, the pain was bordering on unbearable. He almost wished he'd stashed away some hooch in his bag to take the sting off.

"Almost done," Lily said, before pulling the needle through and doing a quick check. "That should do it until Porlyusica gets here."

Gajeel groaned. "Not the _hag_, Lil. Old woman's gonna _kill_ me!"

Lily reached for a new roll of bandages. "Well, it serves you right," he said, as he set about re-wrapping the wound, and Gajeel had the eerie feeling his real fight hadn't even begun. If the hag didn't get him first, the old man was sure to have a thing or two to say about his recklessness. And, of course, Juvia would want to get a word in. And Cana, if he knew her. Part of him wondered if Shorty would give a damn, but he shoved that thought away before it had had a chance to settle. He didn't care what she thought. He might have given a fuck two days ago, before she'd had him sacked, which was a clear enough statement of what little regard she held for him. No, Shorty probably wouldn't lift a brow at the news.

"Thinking about your girl?"

"Dry up, Lil."

"You didn't answer my question."

Gajeel glared at him. "None of yer business."

Lily snorted. "Attitude says it all, Gajeel. You're not fooling anyone."

Gajeel said nothing to that, only continued to glare at the wall. Pulling on the bandage to make sure it was tight enough, Lily tucked the end in so it was fastened securely. As he was pulling away, Gajeel was about to comment that his work was probably fruitless, as the hag was more likely to kill him rather than patch him up, when the doors to the lockers were suddenly thrown open, effectively cutting off his remark. A snarl in his throat, Gajeel's gaze shot to the doorway, but the sharp rebuttal for the intruder to scram died on his tongue when his eyes landed on the figure standing in the doorway.

The door slammed shut with a echoing clang, the sound of it ringing through the silent locker room, and before it stood Shorty, gloved fists clenched at her sides, hair a wild mess atop her head and brown eyes like steel glaring at him as though he'd done something unforgivable. And sitting where he was, shirtless, bandaged, smelling of sweat and with his hair out of its cord and no doubt looking like a rag-a-muffin, Gajeel couldn't get over his surprise at seeing her fast enough to muster a single comment.

Although by the fury on her face, she didn't seem to be there to listen to anything he had to say, anyway.

"_You_," she began, seething, as she pointed a quivering finger at him. "You _inconsiderate_," she charged towards them, "_reckless_," another step, "_arrogant_," and another step, until she was directly in front of Lily, although she didn't even seem to notice him, "**_idiot!_**" She was breathing heavily, and looked two seconds away from tearing him a new one. And he wondered if she wouldn't have attempted just that, if Lily hadn't been crouching in the middle of her path.

Gingerly, Lily rose to his feet, and edged out of the way. Shooting Gajeel a quick look, he nodded to the doorway. "I'll go see if I can't get hold of Porlyusica," he said, nodding to the girl, who hadn't so much as acknowledged his presence, before he slipped out of the lockers. For all her anger, Shorty didn't even seem to have heard him, and now there was nothing but an empty bench between them. She was visibly shaking with barely repressed fury, and despite his surprise, and despite the fact that he was strangely aroused, it was all suddenly and violently replaced with a surge of equally fervent anger, because what the _fuck_?

"Short–"

"Don't 'Shorty' me, Gajeel Redfox!" she cut him off before he could even get a single word out. "What were you _thinking_?! No, don't answer that, because you clearly weren't! Are you out to get yourself _killed_, is that it? Is your reputation so important you'd risk your _life–"_

"The fuck d'ya think ya know about my reasons?!" he snapped, the boom of his voice swallowing her words.

She hissed, _"Nothing,_ as it were! You didn't tell me–"

"Ya had me fucking **_fired!_**" he roared, shooting to his feet, and with the anger coursing through him he almost forgot about the pain. Straightening to his full height, Gajeel stalked forward, kicking the offending bench away and sending it clattering to the floor. She startled visibly at the action, and despite her spunk, he saw her flinch as he suddenly towered above her.

"The hell d'ya have to say to that?" he growled.

Her brows furrowed, and she squared her shoulders. "I didn't have a choice!"

"The fuck you did! And it was a damn stupid one! The hell d'ya think's going to keep Ivan off yer back if I'm not around?!" he all but shouted, despite the fact that he hadn't meant to reveal that particular fact.

Damn it!

She gaped, confusion tugging at her brows. "But I'm no threat to him!" she exclaimed. "He has Daddy's company, and he doesn't even kno–" and she stopped herself, her brows furrowing as she met his gaze squarely. And then it dawned on her, and suddenly her anger was replaced entirely by horror.

"He knows," she rasped, dumbstruck.

Gajeel said nothing, and she opened her mouth, only to close it again. "You...that's why you accepted the fight?" Her voice broke at her question, and where she'd been glaring at him before, only disbelief marred her features now.

He turned his gaze away, but he didn't need to look at her – he could practically sense her reaction by its sheer and utter intensity. And here he'd been thinking he was going to have a hard time explaining his reasons to the old man and the hag – he hadn't even wanted to consider having to explain it to _her_, hadn't thought she'd as much as bat an eyelash at his actions. But going by the stricken look on her face, he wondered if perhaps he hadn't been a bit angry when he'd so quickly cut her out of his life.

He sighed, his neglected exhaustion finding its way back as the last thrill of the fight drained away from him. "Ya happy now?" he asked, hoping she would just leave it be after that. What more could she possibly want from him? He looked at her in time to see the last of the horror leave her face, replaced by a flicker of disbelief.

And then she was very, _very_ angry.

"_Happy?_ Am I happy you almost threw your life away for me?" And then the fierce light was back in her eyes. "What gave you the _right_–"

The words were out of his mouth before he could think straight and stop them – having become such a habit they tumbled out on instinct alone. It's my _fuckin_' _jo_–" He stopped himself just in time, the word dying on his tongue even as the implications of his remark dawned on both of them.

Helpless fury seemed to overtake her. "That's why I let you go in the first place!" she all but screamed at him. "So it didn't need to be your job! So _you_ didn't need to to do something like this!"

Had he not been quite so angry, he might have stopped to ponder on the implications of those words, but as it was, he was too riled up to be able to think straight. He snarled, "And ya couldn't have asked me if I fucking _wanted to_ _go_?"

She gaped, before she exploded. "It's _my_ life – it's my choice!"

"It's not only yer life, Shorty, and ya know it!"

It was her turn to snarl. "And when did you ever care past your duty, Gajeel Redfox? I was your _job_, and _only_ that, and _now_–"

"Oh, it's about that, is it?" he asked, cutting her off. "Unless you've forgotten, _Levy_, I wasn't the one who backed away. That was _you._" He turned away from her, eager to get out from under her intense glare, and reached for his shirt. He needed to get out before he did something he would regret, and getting himself into such a state after just having had his wound restitched, _again_, probably wasn't his best course of action.

But Shorty was far from finished. "And what was I supposed to do?!" she shrieked, and her words halted him in his tracks, his shirt in his hand, and before he could check himself, he'd whirled back to face her, the garment dropping to the floor.

"Ya could have given me some damn trust, for a start!"

She gaped. "_Trust_? I trusted you with my _life_! I–"

"Oh _really?"_ he sneered. "'Cause it sure as hell didn't seem that way to me. Ya wrote me off, and ya didn't even have the guts to say it to my face!"

"You make it sound like it was such an easy choice, but it wasn't! Why didn't I say it to your face, Gajeel? I _couldn't_!"

He snorted. "What, too damn high and mighty to reduce yourself to my level?" he growled. The words were intentionally scathing, and he didn't know where he was pulling them from. Somewhere from deep within his latent resentment for the rich, maybe. Maybe it was the years of living in the Alleys, always under someone's command. Or maybe he just wanted to make her feel like hell, the way she'd made him feel like a damn fool when he'd stood in front of Makarov and had been handed his dismissal.

She fisted her hands, and for a second he wondered if perhaps she wasn't about to pounce at him. "You said I knew nothing about your reasons, but it's _you_ who know nothing about mine!"

"And whose fault is–"

"**_SHUT UP!" _**she suddenly screamed, her voice bouncing off the walls of the lockers, and despite his anger which seemed to have a life of its own, Gajeel did just that, rendered completely speechless by her outburst.

As for Shorty, she was breathing heavily, hands trembling and eyes shining with frustrated tears. And it was the night of the party all over again. She was making demands like she fucking ruled the place, and her eyes were burning with a fervour that he'd seen so many times in his years in the ring. And it didn't really matter if she was a woman or if they were in the lockers and not on the raised dais outside – the only difference between his current stand-off and the one he'd just barely gotten through in one piece, was that this one threw words rather than punches.

Her hair was wild about her face, and her chest heaved with the effort of her scream. And damn it all if she didn't look like a fucking warrior, her eyes blazing and her jaw clenching as she tried to calm herself. There wasn't a shred of timidity left in her now, and even if they were in a locker room reeking of sweat, she still managed to look like a fucking princess.

Taking a deep breath, she seemed to calm down a bit. "Just–"

But whatever she'd been about to say was lost as he suddenly closed the remaining space between them, hooking a finger under her chin to tilt her head, and swallowing her words before she had a chance to even so much as react.

She almost recoiled against him, but then his other hand was at the back of her neck, tangling in the loose curls of her wild hair as he kept her still, and a breath later her tense form seemed to melt against him as she yielded, and if he hadn't been so damn overtaken by her presence he might have smirked. She was so small and soft against him, everything about her a sharp contrast to the place they were in, and her raging anger seemed to have vanished entirely as he pushed closer, angling her head ever so slightly as his fingers left her chin to grasp her jaw. The soft feel of fabric brushed against the skin of his arms as she raised her gloved hands tentatively. Her slight hesitation only spurred him on, and as he slanted his mouth against hers she inhaled sharply through her nose, but didn't make a move to pull away. And despite his usual confidence, he had a hard time ignoring the relief that surged through him.

He wasn't drunk like the time in the alley, and he wasn't doing it to tease the boundary between them. He was sober to the marrow, and he wasn't planning to tease any boundary – he was going to beat the shit out of it. If she had pulled away completely and written him off without further thought, things might have been different, but she hadn't. She had sought him out – had willingly crossed the line she herself had drawn. The minute she'd stepped into the lockers, all bets had been off. He knew that, and she knew that, but something told him, as small hands brushed against the skin of his back, tangling in the hair hanging down it with tentative curiosity, that she didn't really mind. Which was good, because there was no going back for them now. Not for him, at least, and damn him to hell and back if he was ever letting her get out of his sight after this.

And as though sensing his intent, she made a noise of discontent, and then her small hands were pushing at his chest and she was backing away. "Wh-what are you _doing_?!"

He snorted, watching her back away. "A bit slow on the uptake there, Shorty."

She flushed, brushing her hands down the skirt of her short dress. "I thought I'd made it clear that there wasn't going to be any of...of _that_," she said, the words stumbling over each other, and the fact that she was so clearly aroused and so clearly trying not to be was so damn amusing he couldn't keep the smirk off his face.

"Don't _smile_ – I'm serious!"

He rolled his eyes, stepping forward, and she stepped further back, warning clear in her eyes, and he grinned. "And I ain't? You say you've made it clear, but ye're not very convincing," he rumbled as he stepped closer, until he had her backed up against the wall. The familiarity of the scene leaped out at him, but there was a chasm of differences between then and now. He knew exactly what he was doing, for one, and they weren't strangers anymore. She'd dragged him, injured and bleeding, through the Alleys in the middle of the night to save his sorry ass, and damn it if that didn't make her more than a simple acquaintance.

"Gajeel," she warned, but even to her ears, that had to sound half-hearted. For his part, he made no other move than to look at her where she squirmed against the wall, clearly uncomfortable, but still not moving away. She could have, if she'd wanted to. She could have slipped right by him, and he would have let her go. He'd learned enough about her character to know that she was too damn stubborn to be forced into something she didn't agree with. Hell, the fact that they'd actually managed to get along in the first place had been a direct result of her sheer refusal to let him be an ass. He was twice her size, more than a little shady and back then all she'd known about him was that he'd used to work for the mob, and yet that hadn't stopped her from making her voice heard. And if she'd been able to stand up to him then, there was no doubt in his mind that she was more than capable of standing up to him now, when she knew he wouldn't so much as lift a hand to her, no matter how angry he was. So he continued to watch her, and after a moment where she looked like she was trying to melt into the wall, she relaxed, her shoulders losing their tension and the suspicion fading from her sharp look.

And that was all the incentive he needed.

Reaching out a bandage-wrapped hand to her jawline, he took his time when he leaned in – _gave_ her time. Time to push him away, if she wanted to, because he was a great many things but forcing himself on a woman was below even him.

"This is going to change things," came the soft murmur – the stating of the obvious so like her, in such a situation – and he snorted.

"A bit, yeah."

She swallowed. "I'm not taking this lightly," she said then, and there was a warning there if he'd ever heard one. He smirked, his nose less than an inch away from hers.

"And what makes ya think I am?"

She said nothing to that, but when he closed the remaining distance between them she tilted her head ever so slightly, and this time he couldn't keep the grin off his face.

Despite her tentative acceptance, her nervousness seeped through and into her actions – the anxious twitch of her small hands, and the fact that she couldn't seem to decide where to put them. It was a clear testament that she was on unfamiliar ground, and some feral part of him welcomed the thought with an almost possessive vigour. Even with her imagination, he doubted she'd ever considered herself in this situation in a cramped locker room reeking of sweat. But, he was reminded, whatever polite and pleasant courtship she'd expected from her old life was just that – a part of her old life. She was in his world now, and to him, even the word 'courtship' was as ridiculous as what it suggested. His world was necking in dark corners, not flowers and romantic walks – things that'd turn anyone's stomach.

But going by the increasingly eager response he was getting, and the fact that she hadn't even made a single comment on his dishevelled appearance, it would seem it wasn't so much just his world anymore. Sometime when he hadn't been looking, it had become hers as well.

He didn't want to think about why that made him happy. Maybe because it meant she wouldn't go running back to her old life at first opportunity.

Maybe.

Grasping her jaw, he angled her head to make up for the awkward height difference – she was ridiculously short, even in heels. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, flushed red, and a slight cover of perspiration dotted her nose, but the slowly stifling temperature of the cramped room didn't even phase him.

He'd almost forgotten entirely about the wound when one of her small hands brushed against it, and a curse tore itself from his lips as he suddenly doubled over, the pain enough to make his vision go dark at the edges. His reaction made her yelp in surprise, but then her hands were on his shoulders, supporting him as he leaned his weight against the wall, all but covering her startled form.

"Gajeel!"

"M'fine," he grunted, brows pulling down as he pushed back the dizziness. Whatever had remained of the home-made anaesthetic he'd taken before the match was gone, and the idle thought struck him that without it, he'd probably have been knocked out before the first round had been over. His rested his head against the top of hers, his vision swimming in a sea of sky-kissed blue, and he breathed through his nose as he fought to keep a tight rein on his consciousness. She didn't move from where she stood pressed between him and the wall, but she relaxed against him when it became clear he wasn't about to crash to the floor. Her breath was warm against his feverish skin, but her hands didn't move from where they supported his shoulders.

"You should sit down," she said, concern evident in her tone.

"Give me a minute," he grumbled, but just when he was about to extract himself, the door to the locker room slammed open with so much force the girl pressed against him recoiled in surprise. Raising his head from her hair, mind reeling with the scandal it would make if they were caught by the wrong people, and the fact that the old man would have him strung up by his ankles for it, Gajeel felt dread settle like a lump in his stomach as the hag strode in, beyond furious. At her heels was Lily, an apologetic look on his face which changed to one of surprise as he took in their compromising predicament.

Another woman might have been taken aback at their scandalous position, but Porlyusica didn't even pause as she reached them with three quick strides, stepping over the fallen bench without so much as a thought, and before Gajeel could react properly she had him by the ear, yanking him away from Levy and all but dragging him towards the bench that was still standing.

"Sit your ass down!"

Despite her age and her size, she had no trouble pushing his much larger form down onto the bench, and then she was glaring at the both of them like they had personally insulted her. To him that was normal, but Shorty seemed to shrink in on herself in mortification at the old woman's sharp gaze. Then she levelled the entire force of her disapproval at Gajeel, who was grumbling at being treated like a damn five-year-old. "Lily, take the girl outside," she commanded, her glower darkening when Gajeel met it with one of his own.

"Woman–"

"And _you_," she growled, cutting him off. "Ungrateful little brat. Dragging me from my dinner to stitch yer wound, only to waste it! Do I look like a charity to you?"

Gajeel opened his mouth, but she pointed a finger at him. "Don't even think about it. Ye're gonna keep yer mouth shut, and if ya so much as twitch I'll remove the stitches and start again. _Now_," and she turned her gaze to Levy, who looked like she wanted the wall to swallow her up. Giving her now dishevelled appearance a once over, the old woman snorted.

"I ain't yer mother, girl, so I ain't gonna lecture ya on propriety, but there's a time and place for things and this ain't it!"

Levy flinched, turning her eyes away, but nodded. And he didn't know if it was a trick of the light, but Gajeel could swear the hag's sharp look softened a bit. "Lily," she said then, and the man was at Shorty's side, offering her his arm like the ridiculous gentleman he was. She took it, looking grateful for a chance to escape, and Gajeel felt his eye twitch as his friend ushered her towards the door. She threw a look over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his, and surprised him by giving him a shy sort of smile. Following her gaze, Lily's eyes met his, but where he'd expected a sly grin, Gajeel was surprised at the gravity of his friend's expression.

"C'mon, let's mooch," he said, turning his gaze back to Shorty with a smile as he lead her outside.

Then the door slammed shut behind them, leaving him with a glaring old hag who looked two seconds away from dragging his ass back to the ring. And suddenly he felt like a teenager, and it was his first mission for Jose all over again. He'd been seventeen and she'd found him in a gutter, drenched and beaten to within an inch of his life, and she'd dragged his sorry shape back to her home and had him patched up. When he'd awoken, her disapproving glare had been the first thing to greet him, and then she'd given him an earful on foolhardiness and a cuff across the back of his head when he'd talked back.

Looking up at her now, he half-expected her to give him another one, but she remained where she stood, and she looked tired. He squirmed, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "What?" he ground out.

She snorted. "Just wondering if ya've learned anything from my lectures over the years," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "It appears not."

Gajeel snorted. "Ye're not my mother, hag."

This time, she did cuff him, eliciting a string of curses. "_Evidently_. No brat of mine would have manners like yours," she snapped.

He glared up at her, but she only glared back, and he kept his next comment to himself. Pulling up the first aid kit Lily had used, she righted the bench, before rifling through the box and grumbling to herself.

"Where's the kid?" he asked then, eyeing her warily as she went about her business.

"Left her with the gloomy one. I ain't bringing her in _here,"_ she said with a sharp look to emphasise her point, and Gajeel turned his gaze away.

"You talked to the old man?"

"I've nothing to say to that old fool at the moment," she groused as she turned back, and didn't even warn him before she yanked at the bandage.

"Oye–"

"Oh, pipe down! If ya can take a punch, ya can handle this."

Gajeel channelled all his annoyance through his glare, but it barely phased her. After a moment, he relaxed, but didn't take his eyes off her as she worked with the efficiency of a woman who could stitch a wound in her sleep. Thinking about her comment, he felt a sudden and inexplicable urge to defend his boss.

"It ain't his fault, you know," he said, as though that would help either of them. But it was true – it wasn't the old man's fault. Gajeel did his job with the full knowledge of what it entailed, and this had been on Ivan's orders, not Makarov's.

His comment only earned him another unladylike snort. "Oh? He goes on and on about his precious children, but lets one of ya run along to get himself killed without lifting a finger. He is a _fool_," another yank of the bandage, and Gajeel flinched, "and I'll give him a piece of my mind when I've made sure ye're not about to bleed to death."

"Lily patched me up."

"He also let you go into the ring in the first place – I'd have cuffed him if he wasn't such a smooth-talker."

Gajeel smirked, and winced as she all but tore the last layer of bandage off. "Charmed, were ya?" and he cursed as she prodded the stitches.

"No cheek from you, brat, or I'll sew yer kisser shut. That'll teach ya a lesson," she warned, and there was no playfulness in her tone, but that was normal. For as long as he'd known her, Porlyusica had complained about his manners and slapped him across the back of his head for the smallest remark, but as much as she grumbled about Makarov's children, she'd never once turned any of them away from her door. She could make it sound like they were the bane of her very existence, but there was an apprehensive look to her eyes as she surveyed the wound in his side that was clear enough evidence that even if she'd never admit it, she was a mother to all of them. A grumpy hermit without a social bone in her body, perhaps, but for those of them who'd grown up without mothers she was the nearest thing they had.

"Where's the lecture?" he asked as she set about improving Lily's stitches, although he could tell she was grudgingly impressed by his handiwork. She looked at him then, burgundy eyes like cutting knives, before she turned back to his wound. For a long time, she didn't say anything, only added a few stitches, wiped away the blood and re-wrapped his side – although with much more force than Lily had used.

Rising to her feet, she surveyed him, as though contemplating something. And like Makarov, she had the uncanny ability to make him feel like an awkward adolescent, but before he could open his mouth to say something she'd have found to be either cheeky or arrogant, she reached down to give him another cuff across the back of his head.

"Hey!"

"_That's_ your lecture – now get some damn rest!"

She turned towards the doorway, grumbling as she went, but when she stopped before the door, she threw a look over her shoulder.

Gajeel grumbled. "What? Want ta give me another slap?" he growled, rubbing the back of his head.

Her look was dead serious as she regarded him from across the room. Then she snorted. "Don't mess it up with the girl," was all she said then, before she strode out, leaving him alone in the locker room.

Looking after her, Gajeel didn't know what to make of that, and only shook his head. _Troublesome old hag. _

Reaching for his discarded shirt, he slipped it on, rising to his feet and walking towards the door as he buttoned it up, leaving it untucked just in case he ran into the old man on his way out. Grabbing his bag, he pushed his way out of the doors and back into the hall, grimacing slightly as the newly re-stitched wound throbbed against his side. A drink, he decided, was what he needed. To dull the pain, and to celebrate, because hadn't he fucking won the biggest match of the year? Yet all he'd gotten for his efforts had been a pat on the back, two lectures, a handful of slaps and he knew there were more were those had come from. Was a celebratory drink too bloody much to ask for?

Sighing at the prospect, he made his way out into the nearly empty great hall, eyes raking from corner to corner to make sure there weren't any persistent journalists hanging around waiting for him. He had no patience with pencil pushers when he was in a _good_ mood – he might sock one of 'em if they bothered him in his current state, and even if he couldn't care less about newspapers and headlines, he wasn't about to make Ivan look bad after all his effort to appease the loon. That was just counter-productive.

He was almost across the hall when he heard it – Lily's voice, the low rumble impossible to mistake. Stopping to listen, Gajeel found his friend seated on one of the chairs at the far back near the entrance, Shorty beside him. He was about to rudely announce his presence when Lily's next words had his own halting on his tongue.

"It was before I came to Magnolia. I grew up outside of Fiore, you know – in Extalia."

Gajeel paused, curious. From their vantage point they couldn't seen him, and even if eavesdropping was one of the things he couldn't stand, he couldn't help himself. Leaning against the wall, he put his bag by his feet. He didn't need to strain his ears to listen – he was close enough to hear both of them without problem.

"When did you come here, then?"

He knew the answer to that even before Lily spoke, "Fifteen years ago, I believe it is."

Shorty hummed. "What made you leave?"

And even if Lily was his closest friend, even Gajeel had never asked him _that_. It had never been brought up, and he knew better than anyone the desire to leave something buried in the past. He'd respected the man too much to pry into his business.

"I made a mistake," he admitted then, and there was heavy regret in his voice as he spoke. And although Gajeel knew he had no right listening in on their conversation, he couldn't help but feel curious – and perhaps a little offended – as to why Lily was telling the girl, of all people.

"What...what kind of mistake?" By her tone, she was nervous, and Gajeel resisted the urge to snort. Her imagination had no doubt run off with her completely at that remark, and created all sorts of scenarios. Although he couldn't deny that he, too, was intrigued. He knew Lily didn't have a _clean_ past, but that could mean a lot of things.

Inhaling deeply, Lily released a heavy sigh. "One that I live with every single day, and that I will regret to the day I die," he said, and Gajeel's brows furrowed. "But before I get there, there's a few things you need to know."

She shifted in her seat. "Alright," she said.

Gajeel knew he could have walked away. Knew he probably _should,_ but something kept him there, leaning against the wall. His injury throbbed, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. His drink forgotten, he remained, listening as Lily began his story.

"It was at the start of my career in the ring..."

* * *

AN: So here's what's going to happen – the next two chapters will be dedicated to Lily, so we'll be taking a small leap 15 years back in time, before the start of the story. So no GaLe for a few chapters, but there'll be more than enough Lily to go around, so I hope that'll make up for it!

**cash or check: **do we kiss now, or later?

**off one's nuts: **crazy

**mooch: **leave


	17. the panther

AN: It's 15 years earlier (circa 1910 by historic standards), and racial tension is strong in Extalia, where 'Lily the Panther' is a boxer on the steady rise to fame. And ASFHSHAFHS, _over 300 reviews! _YOU GUYS! I can't better express my gratitude at your fantastic support than foam at the mouth and purr like a cat. Yeah, savour _that_ mental image. _Savour it. _

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XVII**

"Yeah, that's 'im. Real piece 'a work, ain't he?"

A punch sent the leather bag swaying gently, the hinges keening as the weight strained against the supports.

"Got that right. Goddamn dinge thinkin' he's got the–"

The following punch sent the bag swinging sideways, the sound cutting off the remark. Sweat ran down his face to pool at his collar, but he ignored it as he levelled another hit at the heavy bag. The measured exhalations of air and the blood thrumming in his veins became a steady drone in his ears, swallowing the mockery of the passing men. For once, he let his anger fuel him, channelling his righteous fury into his punches until the screech of the hinges became a continuous wail on the air.

"I swear, the day they started letting _his kind_ in here..."

"Tch. Fucking spade."

With a growl, his next hit sent the bag recoiling, before swinging back towards him. The muscles in his arms strained with the effort, and sweat was dripping into his eyes, blurring his vision as he struck repeatedly with controlled force bordering ever so slightly on the berserk. Around him, the room narrowed until all he could see was the bag before him, although it did little to tune out the spiteful jeers. So he focused his energy on his punches, the systematic strikes and the screech of the–

"Lily! Hey, Lily!"

The familiar voice cut through his concentration, shattering his focus and bringing him back into the gym and the world around him. Pausing in his merciless pummelling of the old leather bag, Lily turned his head towards the call of his name, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"Nadi," he greeted, grabbing a towel as the smaller man came hurtling towards him. Always a bit too eager to stand completely still, Nadi jumped a bit on the spot. And though usually jittery, there was something frantic about him that made Lily pause with the towel halfway to his face, a frown pulling his brows down. Unease rolled in his stomach. "Trouble?"

There was never a lack of it lately. Someone was always causing problems and trying to start riots, and ever since his rise in the ring there seemed to be people lurking around to get him whenever he turned his back. It was good then, to have Nadi watching it, but even between the two of them, against a mob there wasn't much they could do. And although his reputation had kept people from doing anything worse than make threats, he wouldn't be surprised if some idiot took his sudden esteem as a personal insult and went after him regardless.

His friend shifted from foot to foot, gaze shifting uneasily around the room, as though unsure of how to phrase himself, or if they were being overheard. "Uh, well. Not _that_ kind of trouble. You see, uh, she's kind of.._here_."

Lily blinked, before the implication of his words settled and dread overtook him like a well-aimed punch to the stomach. "_What_?"

He was moving before Nadi had a chance to elaborate further. With a yelp, the smaller man followed at his heels. "But I think you're good, Lil! No one ever goes in there any–"

"And you'll make sure of it."

The statement left no room for argument, and he shot the man a significant look, chucking the towel at an empty chair as he went. His previous anger warred with sudden anxiety, and he didn't know which emotion was more appropriate. What the hell was she _thinking?_

Nadi scratched the back of his head, visibly uneasy, but nodded. "Sure. Yeah, I'll just...keep watch then," he said, stopping as they passed the dais. Lily didn't bother to say anything more as he cut across the last of the gym towards the small locker room at the far end. Nadi was right in that no one ever went in there – he didn't even think anyone but him had set foot inside in the past two years. It was too shabby, for one, and some of the boxers wouldn't go near it for the sole reason that Lily used it, but that was fine by him – it gave him extra privacy anyway.

Although it wasn't exactly _this_ he'd had in mind.

Grabbing the doorknob, there was a touch of nervous desperation in his movements as he opened it to let himself inside, and without even stopping to look he locked it securely behind him. He didn't even need to turn around to know she was there – Nadi wouldn't lie just to jest with him. So when he did turn around, there was a reproaching frown on his face, and he was ready to tell her off for being so blatantly _stupid,_ but as was always the case around her, his words seemed to die on his tongue before he'd had a chance to say them.

As for her, she simply smiled at him from where she sat on the old, rickety bench, grey eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement at his blatant inability to be angry with her. In the dirt caked, ramshackle little room she was a stark contrast in her pale, clean dress, and where everything around her was a filthy grey, she only seemed to stand out more than ever. It would never cease to amuse him how she managed to look regal even in a shabby locker room.

"What are you doing here?"

Her lips quirked with wry amusement. "That's a fine greeting," she said, tilting her head. Her hair had been curled, he noted absently, and they fell softly against her jawline as she moved. The flaxen colour seemed almost entirely white next to the grimy wall behind her.

He sighed, exasperation replacing the remnants of his anger, but it was difficult to keep from returning the smile. And for a moment neither of them said anything, only looked at each other from across the room. And for that one moment the anxiety disappeared along with his anger, drowned by the relief of just seeing her again. It had been close to a month since he'd seen her last, and though he wanted to physically shake her for her blatant lack of self-preservation at showing up where someone could have easily seen her, he could only managed half-hearted frustration with those eyes looking at him like _that_.

A door slamming somewhere in the outer room and the obnoxious bellow of new arrivals shattered the fragile peace, and he stiffened, and had to remind himself again that no one ever came to seek him out. And Nadi had an eye on the door – he'd make a distraction if it became necessary, although Lily prayed it wouldn't.

Shagotte seemed wholly unperturbed by it all, and only continued to look at him with that small smile. "You look tired," she noted then, concern marring her brow.

Lily ran a hand over his face as he pushed away from the door to come sit beside her. He noted with a grimace that having come straight out of a work-out, he was drenched and reeking of sweat, and the contrast between them seemed even more vivid than ever as they sat together on the bench. But as always, she didn't seem to mind, and a small, soft hand wound its slim fingers around his, still wrapped and full of grime from the punching bag.

"You've been overworking yourself," she reproached fondly.

He smirked. "Big match tonight," he reminded her, although he didn't really need to. Somehow she always found out about his arrangements before they'd even been made public. He didn't know how she got hold of that information, but then he'd never asked, allowing her to indulge in her secrets if she wished. That she frequently came to see him fight was a driving force that had gotten him through more than one match, even some where he'd been certain he'd been about to lose. It had always given him a perverse sort of pride in knowing that his girl was there to see him, and even with all the rich young men hanging on to her every word at the matches, he knew where her attention was. He wasn't going to complain about her methods.

She hummed softly to herself, and the hand holding his tightened its grip. "You'll be careful," she reminded him, as she always did. It was not a question, but then it didn't need to be.

"Aa."

They sat together like that for a few blissful moments, and Lily found himself looking down at their hands. There were times like this where he wondered what kept her coming back; that kept her sneaking off to see him, when she could doubtless have any man in Extalia drop everything just for a moment in her company. He'd chalked the beginning of their odd companionship up as something born out of a deep-rooted curiosity on her part – he hadn't actually expected to see her again after that first meeting.

He'd been walking home one night from a late work-out, and found her at the corner in a clearly black neighbourhood. She'd been so blatantly out of place with alabaster skin and nearly matching hair, but her style of dress and the fiercely stubborn tears at the corners of her eyes had immediately told him she wasn't a streetwalker**. **And him being who he was, he'd politely asked if she'd needed any help. He'd expected her to scoff, or maybe spit at him – that one was always popular amongst the ladies – so when she'd squared her shoulders and humbly yet sternly asked him to "escort" her to the main square, he'd been so taken aback he'd had a hard time coming up with a reply. But she'd thrust a gloved hand out elegantly, and he'd offered his arm without thinking about it. It had been late enough that there hadn't been anyone around to see them – if there had been, he'd be dead, or at the very least locked up in the hoosegow. But she'd been so startlingly, refreshingly unconcerned with the colour of his skin he'd taken the risk without question.

She'd walked away from her father, she'd told him then, and had been so angry she'd lost track of where she was, and before she'd known it had ended up in a part of town she'd never been in. _His_ part of town, as it were. He hadn't asked her then why she'd so willingly come with him, and in the year that had followed, she'd never offered an explanation. He'd seen her safely off, leaving her at a safe distance from her home in a part of town so posh, he'd had trouble entering it without gaping. He'd never thought he'd see her again, although he'd caught himself thinking of her in the days following. It had been ridiculous, really, getting moony-eyed over a woman he'd met_once_, who was white and an heiress of all things, but he'd indulged himself, because why not enjoy the small things in life when they were given to you? And the memory of her genuinely grateful smile when he'd bowed and left her had been the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

He'd had a match scheduled a week later, and he remembered quite clearly the minute before the first toll of the bell, and catching sight of her in the crowd. She'd been seated at a distance and amongst the finer folk, but he'd recognized her immediately, and the smile on her face had spoken volumes of her presence. And he'd been so startled he'd almost not heard the bell, and it had taken a good sock to the jaw to snap him out of his daze. After that, she'd just kept coming back, and the strange companionship that had formed had slowly shifted into something else; something that made him both elated and terrified at the same time, because that _something_ wasn't reserved for people like them. Their social standings were one thing; forgiveable, if her folks had been open minded enough so see past his class to the honest, well-mannered man he was.

The colour of his skin was another matter entirely.

"You're worrying again."

Turning his gaze from their locked hands to her eyes, Lily chuckled. "I always am."

She gave him an exasperated smile. "I'm being careful."

"Evidently."

"_Lily_," she emphasised, scrunching up her petite nose with playful indignation. "I _am_ careful. I always make sure no one sees me, and even if they were to–"

"That," he stopped her. "Will not happen." Because if there was one thing that terrified him above all else, it was the thought someone catching them. They wouldn't care if she was nobility – they'd lynch her along with him if they were angry enough.

She squeezed his hand, and as he glanced at her he noted the almost imperceptible furrow of her brows that told him something was bothering her. He frowned, realizing that if it was something that had warranted she show up where it clearly wasn't safe, it was something serious. But he'd never been one to pry for information, and so he let her have her time to think. Finally, after a few moments of heavy silence, she spoke.

"Daddy wants me to marry."

He stiffened in his seat, and the hand holding hers tightened its grip. It was a subject they'd neglected to bring up for months, keeping it wrapped up in hopes that it'd go away and take their troubles with it. It was pure foolishness on their part, when they both knew they couldn't just run away from it. He'd known the minute she'd first looked at him with something other than friendly regard that he was tempting fate, and setting himself up for a future that would never end well. She was bound by the rules of her class as he was by those of his own, and if that wasn't a chasm between them, their starkly contrasting colours screamed volumes of the futile battle they were fighting. And though he was a fighter by nature, and had fought for as long as he could remember, when faced with his greatest one yet all he could feel was a heavy resignation. Like news of a terminal illness, it was accompanied by the unfamiliar demand of _surrender_.

He should have seen it coming, should have seen it would never work out in the long run between them, but in the end all he had for comfort was a hindsight that cut like a knife, a mockery of his naivete.

"I'm surprised he's waited this long," he said then, at length.

If his answer disappointed her, she didn't show it. "He hasn't. He brought it up the day we met – that's why I'd stormed off. I think I scared him so much it's kept him from mentioning it since, but...he's been making arrangements for a few weeks now."

Lily said nothing, but the dread he'd felt increased tenfold. "And who is the lucky man?"

At that, her apprehensive frown sharpened into a outright glare. "_No one._ I'll never accept."

"Shagotte–"

"No," she cut him off. "I told him as much, and if he's still going to try, then...then I'll run away."

Lily sighed. "And where would you go?" She couldn't hide with him. In a segregated area, she'd be found before she'd even stepped foot into the little place he tentatively called home. He knew that, and _she_ knew that.

But she was, if anything, horribly stubborn. "I'll go to Magnolia," she declared, nodding to herself before she turned her determined gaze on him. "And you'll come with me."

Lily blinked, genuinely taken aback. "Magnolia? That's in _Fiore_."

She grinned. "Exactly. It's far enough that they won't even think to look!"

"If we'd get that far."

"We would! With your talent, you could easily get back into the business, and...and I'd find something to do."

"Shagotte–"

"Would you rather I marry?" she asked, cutting him off, and despite her anger, hurt was evident in her eyes. "Stuck here for the rest of my days with a man that's not _you_, bearing children that won't be _yours_?"

He said nothing to that, only tightened his grip on her hand. The prospect was enough to make him sick to his stomach, but the alternative just wasn't _possible._ "They'd find us."

"They wouldn't. There's a man there – Makarov Dreyar. He's an associate of my father. He owns a business there, and...I think I could convince him to help us."

Her voice was so hopeful when she spoke, it was physically hard for him not to be persuaded by the prospect she was proposing. He didn't know this Makarov, and he doubted she knew what she'd be asking of him, if it came to that. Harbouring a runaway heiress and a black man wasn't something just about anyone would do, and especially not someone who was doubtless a _white_ businessman. He didn't know how things were in Magnolia, but he doubted life would be any different for them than it was where they were now. He'd still be forced to live in a segregated area, and he could never ask her to do that, too.

And then there was the fact that, even if they were to elope, their escape would no doubt be short-lived. "They would find out where we'd gone," he said, hating to break her dream but not knowing any other alternative. "We'd draw too much attention, and someone would alert the authorities. If your family doesn't find us, _someone_ will."

She was gripping his hand so hard she was shaking, but he didn't know what to tell her but the truth. There wasn't a part of him that wanted her to marry someone else, but at the same time, he'd grown up in a vastly different world than she had. Doors had always been open for her – she'd grown up believing in opportunities and the victory of all things good. He'd seen the darker side of life – hell, he _lived_ on the darker side of life since was born, ironic as that phrase was. There were hardly any opportunities, only doors slammed in his face. He just wasn't able to summon her honest hope for the future.

"I won't marry," she said then, her voice a rasp. "I _won't."_

"Has your father given you a choice?"

She was silent a moment, and when he looked at her, she was biting her lip with enough force he was surprised it hadn't drawn blood. "He wants to announce the engagement tonight," she said, answering his question. When he said nothing, she looked at him, a plea in her eyes. "You've got your match, and–"

"You'll catch the next one." He didn't want to think about whether or not she'd be going with her husband by then. His hand shook as he tried to reign in his anger.

She clenched her jaw. "I _hate_ this!"

He said nothing, and when she looked at him, incomprehension was clear on her face. "Why are you so calm?" she asked, voice breaking at her own question.

Lily shrugged. "A part of me always knew this would eventually happen. Or I figured you would grow tired and move on before we'd get to this point."

His words weren't meant to be hurtful, only truthful, but by the look on her face they'd cut deep. He was about to rectify his mistake when she cut him off. "I haven't moved on – I _won't_, even now!"

"Sha–"

"Why are you just _giving up?" _she asked. He opened his mouth to reply, but she rose to her feet, dropping his hand as she backed away from him. "I would giveeverything for you! What can I do to make you see that?"

He rose to follow her, but her hurt look kept him at bay. "I already know," he said then. "And it's the most anyone has ever been willing to give for me, but Shagotte, I'm not _worth it_."

"Lily!" she snapped. "Listen to yourself! You're starting to sound like _them_! You–"

"It's the truth, whether you want to accept it or not," he interrupted her, weariness seeping into his words. She had a life in front of her that demanded sacrifice – those which she had no doubt been willing to make, before she'd met him. Her family was the wealthiest in the entire city, and when she married, her husband would be next in line to inherit the estate and her father's company. Lily wasn't ignorant of the going-ons of the upper class – that company was the city's main artery, and for a family with only one daughter to pass it on to, her presence and compliance was vital. And that was another divide between them. Apart from being bound by his race, Lily was in essence free to do as he pleased, and marry who he pleased so long as it was within "his kind", as his fellow boxers had so eloquently put it earlier. Shagotte lived a life of responsibilities, and she couldn't very well pack her suitcase and leave them behind.

She couldn't just elope. He knew that, and she knew that, even if she was unwilling to admit it.

She was shaking now, trying to hold back her tears, and in two strides he'd covered the space between them and pulled her into his arms. She didn't even put up a fight, just sagged against him with the helpless resignation that came with fighting a losing battle. And even if she refused to let herself cry he could feel the silent sobs as they shook her small frame.

"Shagotte."

"_No_."

Her stubborn refusal was a warm puff of air against his neck, and he smiled against her hair. And for a moment all he did was hold her, and he wondered not without a surge of anguish whether or not this was the last time he'd get to do so. The last time she was _his_, however secretly.

In retrospect, he should have walked away a year ago. It would have been the best for the both of them – she could have married without any hindrance, and perhaps found affection in her heart for a man other than him, but damn it if that didn't make him want to strangle the bastard, whoever he was. The fact was the simple truth that he hadn't been able to walk away, even if he'd been kidding himself for months by thinking anything good could ever come of it. Now she wanted him to fight, but he couldn't find it in himself to put her in the danger that would follow that decision, or remove her from the life she was born to.

"Is this it, then?" Disbelief and desperation broke her voice as she spoke, the words muffled against his shirt. He said nothing, only tightened his grip, and she pressed her cheek against his collar. She didn't say anything else for a moment, but she pulled away slightly, placing her hands against his chest, although she made no move to step out of the embrace. Meeting his gaze, her eyes were resolute despite the sharp hurt evident in them.

"Do you regret it?" she asked then, taking him by surprise, but he didn't need to think to reply.

"Never."

There wasn't a second of hesitation, and she inhaled sharply through her nose. Then she nodded her head, as though coming to a conclusion. He was about to speak when she leaned up on her toes, her small hands reaching for his jaw to tilt his head down. And he didn't have the heart to refuse her – and a selfish part of him didn't want to, because for just a moment, the privilege was his alone. Curling a hand around the back of her head, he tugged her closer. Her hands fisted in his shirt until they shook with the force of her grip, and when she pulled away she really was crying, and the tears trickling down her cheeks looked so out of place on a woman who usually handled everything with a raised chin and a resolute set to her shoulders.

"I wish you'd fight for me," she said then – _pleaded_, but he couldn't find it in himself to agree, couldn't make himself drag her fully into the dirt of his world, knowing what awaited her in a life with him.

His silence was answer enough. Inhaling deeply, she steeled her shoulders. "Well," she said. "I guess that settles it then." And her tone was so bluntly businesslike, it all but tore him apart. Turning away from him, he caught her pressing a hand to her eyes before she made her way to the door. Broken heart or not, she squared her shoulders and lifted her head; regal to the very last.

When she stopped before the door, she didn't turn to him as she spoke. "Would you mind checking if the coast is clear?"

The politeness of the query was like a punch to the face, but he said nothing as he brushed past her, unlocking the door and letting himself out. Whoever had walked in earlier were now gone, and the only one he could spot was Nadi sitting by the dais. At his look, the younger man shot to his feet, and Lily nodded towards Shagotte.

"Mind making sure she gets out safe?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral. If his friend noticed anything, he didn't show it, only nodded as he waited for Shagotte to follow. She didn't even look at him as she passed, but he guessed he deserved nothing less. And even if it killed him to see her go, to let her walk away without so much as lifting a finger, he reminded himself that it was for the best. One day, she would see that, too. Even if it was years from now, she'd look back and know they made the right choice – that _he'd _made the right choice. He hoped she was happy, when she did, and that maybe, there was still a place in her heart for him.

Watching her walk out of the run-down gym, head held high and flaxen curls swaying gently with each step, Lily found himself wondering if he would ever see her again. And while part of him was grateful she hadn't fought him on the matter, another more selfish part of him had hoped she'd succeed in changing his mind, that she'd persuade him to elope, like she'd proposed.

The doors to the outer hallway swung shut behind her, and then he was alone in the empty gym. The sweat clinging to his back had cooled, and he felt cold to the marrow of his bones, although he doubted that was only due to his neglect of cleaning up. The heavy clang of the front entrance closing shuddered throughout the room – the sound an eerie echo that seemed to go through him, somehow.

He didn't even realize he was waiting for her to storm back inside and demand he change his mind until it dawned on him that he hadn't moved for a good ten minutes. Sighing, he turned to walk back inside the lockers. Fatigue weighed him down, and that wasn't good when he was due in the ring in just a few hours. He needed a run or a good spar – anything to get his mind off the hurt in her eyes that was a brand on his memory. His hands were shaking, but he pushed the hurt back with an ease honed by years of experience. She'd be better off without him – he just had to keep telling himself that. She deserved a man who could give her the world, not someone who could only show her affection in private, and whose mere company was enough to get her killed.

He'd made the right choice.

It was only after he'd sat back down that he noticed the small, wrapped parcel sitting innocently by the bench. Frowning, he bent to retrieve it, recognizing the shape of the contents immediately upon touching the paper wrapping. Removing it, hands still shaking, he stared numbly at the brand new pair of leather gloves that put his own second-hand ones to shame. And turning them over in his hands, the elegantly carved 'S' by the straps had his heart sinking into his stomach. Out of the wrapping fell a lone piece of paper, bearing a familiar scrawl that had adorned more than one letter in their year-long affair.

_For my Champion. _

_May they keep you safe._

_Yours, always._

_S._

* * *

Hours later, and his mind was still miles away from the impending match.

Looking at the small piece of paper in his hand, Lily wondered at the sharp turn of events, and the morbid possibility if things could possibly get any _worse_.

Knowing his luck, though, the answer was probably _yes_.

A knock on the door pulled his gaze from the paper in his hand to the door, and he looked up just as Nadi walked inside, a harbinger of bad news by the grave expression on his face. Lily sighed, suddenly very tired. "What now?"

Nadi fiddled with one of his suspenders. "There's been talk of an uprising if you win tonight," he said, not bothering to beat around the bush. As always, he sounded apologetic, as though it was somehow his fault. "You've got three straight wins in the past two months – it's created a...well, a bit of a commotion."

Lily felt a headache coming on, and wondered briefly what had made him pursue such a blatantly public job in the first place. "Wonderful," he said as he rose from his seat. Just what he needed on top of things to brighten his day – an angry mob. Tucking the piece of paper into one of his pockets, he tried to turn his thoughts to the ring and his match. He'd fought damn hard to make it as far as he had, and to get the matches scheduled in the first place, and he wasn't about to throw everything in his life away in a single day.

Even if it felt as though his life had walked out along with the woman holding his heart.

But he wouldn't think about that. If they were as angry as Nadi claimed, they might come after him even if he lost on some twisted pretense or another, and it'd do him no good to have his mind occupied by other things. He'd be easy prey.

"Hey, Lil."

"What is it?"

Nadi looked even more apologetic than before. "I don't want to sound like I'm trying to tell you what to do or anything, but...you're treading on dangerous ground with her. You do know that?"

A wry smirk stretched his lips into a mockery of a smile. "That won't be a problem anymore," he said, the stark words such a sharp contrast to the anguish roiling within him. Pushing past his friend, he bent to retrieve a new shirt. Half the crowd wouldn't like him solely because of the colour of his skin, but he'd be damned if he gave them anything to say about his hygiene. Colour and social standing aside, he'd never stoop to their level of boorish arrogance and lack of manners.

"Oh." Nadi sounded taken aback. "Ah– are you alright?"

Lily sighed, not too keen on keeping the conversation heading where it was, but knowing his friend deserved an explanation. "I'm fine, Nadi. It was bound to happen sooner or later." Pulling the shirt over his head, he turned, only to find the younger man loitering by the door, an eerie look on his face. "Was there anything else?"

Nadi didn't look very apprehensive now, only sorrowful. "You really loved her, didn't you."

Lily shifted his gaze to the gloves on the bench, looking new and fine against a backdrop of dirt and dust. "Yeah."

Nadi said nothing to that, but his face fell a bit. "She was different, you know," he said, after a pause. "From the rest of 'em. She didn't look at me like I was scum – it's like she doesn't see colour."

Lily quirked a smile at that. "She doesn't," he said, as he finished buttoning his shirt. He doubted she ever had.

"Maybe things'll change for us...if more people are like her. Maybe one day, it could have worked out."

Lily knew he was only trying to cheer him up, but there was something infinitely saddening about the remark. Of course, maybe in the future colour wouldn't be an issue, but he doubted it would be in _their_ future. Not that there was a 'their' anymore – he'd let her go, hadn't he? The thought left a bitter taste to his mouth, but he couldn't make himself regret his actions, because even if he couldn't have the future he wanted, making sure _she_ could was the least he could do. That it was without him wasn't anything he could change – the world was the way it was.

There was a sharp rap on the door before it swung open, revealing the bright orange head his manager. "Lily!" he greeted with a wide grin. "Ready to get started? Good, good!"

Lily nodded a greeting, before he went to retrieve his gloves, letting the thrill of the impending fight finally wash over him. He heard Nichiya greet Nadi, and the man's startlingly good mood was what he needed to pull himself out of his stupor. When he turned back, the man's grin was triumphant. "Splendid! This'll be a fight for the papers! Your fourth win, my friend – I'm sure of it!"

Lily only smiled, but his silence didn't deter the man in the least. But then, out of everyone Lily had ever met from their place on the social ladder, Nichiya was the one with the most optimism. And though it wasn't the colour of his skin that put him apart from the privileged, his origins made him as unpopular as the rest of them. Although for as long as Lily had known him, he hadn't let that stop him from doing what he wanted.

"Ready to get out there?"

Nodding, Lily shot Nadi a significant look as he went to follow the eager man. His friend nodded, and some of his apprehension seemed to return, but he followed them nonetheless. Lily understood his concern, and even if Nichiya acted as though nothing could possibly go wrong, he was bound to have heard the rumours.

His fears were confirmed when the man turned towards him by the dais, an uncharacteristically grave look on his odd face. "If things turn bad in the aftermath, you run. Got that? I'll make sure you get out," he said with a pointed look, and Lily nodded. Around him rose a wall of noise, the chatter of voices and the scraping of chairs against the floor, but he pushed it out of his mind as he swung himself up and into the ring. The din of the crowd swallowed him up, and he breathed, letting his mind focus on the task before him. His opponent was already in the opposite corner, a pug-ugly smirk on his face, and he channelled his anger towards the leer. If wouldn't be difficult to pummel this fool into oblivion.

Nichiya was in the corner behind him, talking tactics intermingled with the odd joke, but Lily was only half-listening. His eyes were sweeping the crowd, looking for a pale face and an encouraging smile in the sea of hats and coats, but no matter where he looked, he found nothing. She wasn't in the crowd. And when the bell finally rang, he stepped into the ring, fists tightening in his new gloves as the fight commenced.

He couldn't fight for her. He wouldn't, because the prize wouldn't be worth the potential loss. It wasn't like the ring, where he could rise to his feet and dust himself off in the aftermath, even if he lost. The fight she'd asked of him wouldn't just have put _his_ health at stake – it would have been hers, as well. And there was no question of losing in a fight like that. If he lost _her_, he'd never get back up. So he'd take his victories where he found them. She'd be safe, and if she turned out happy in the end, that was enough for him. That was his prize.

For now, he fought for himself, as he'd always done.

* * *

AN: LILY, I LOVE YOU. BE MY CAT, PLEASE?! And for the record, history pisses me off. Also, next chapter will be another one for Lily, as his story will have an impact on the main plot, but then it's back to Gajeel and Levy.

**dinge/spade**: insulting terms for African-Americans

**hoosegow**: prison

**pug-ugly**: very ugly


	18. Lily

AN: In advance, I apologize. This chapter won't be pretty.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XVIII**

"Hey, Lil – get home safe, yeah? I'll be leaving now, so..."

Giving a perfunctory nod of his head, Lily didn't even look up as he rifled through his bag for a new shirt. He'd stayed later than usual, and Nadi was always fretting about him getting home after dark. He didn't even bother to try to persuade him that he was a grown man who pummelled others for a living, and that he'd get home safe as he always did. Even if someone were to come after him, he figured he'd be able to get away – he'd always been a fast runner. And he knew the city streets like the back of his hand; he could lose them if he needed to. Most of those who had a problem with him wouldn't be caught near a black neighbourhood, anyway, let alone _in_ one.

Running a hand through his hair, he fished around in the bag for his sixpence, before slinging the duffel over his shoulder and making his way out of the small locker room and into the empty gym. He preferred it that way; when there were other people around, they weren't likely to leave him alone, even if they didn't exactly come near him. And even if he managed to tune out the remarks, if he could avoid hearing them in the first place then that was preferable. So when the rest of them had left for the day, he had the place to himself to practice in peace. Sometimes Nadi would be there for company, and sometimes Nichiya, but they both had families of their own, and usually left long before Lily did.

Closing the door behind him, he did a quick sweep of the gym to check that everything was in order, before he made his way towards the back entrance. He never used the front – that was for whites, and even if it was the middle of the night, there'd be an uproar like no other if someone caught him using it. He was "lucky" enough as it was to be allowed to fight for a club that wasn't strictly segregated, although he was well aware the only reason they'd taken him in was because he brought more victories to their name than any of the others. Other than Nadi, there wasn't a single coloured man as far as Lily knew, no matter how "radical" the club considered itself.

The hinges on the door keened shrilly, and he grimaced at the sound as he pushed his way outside the rust-coated entrance. The year was creeping to a close, and the early winter cold slammed against him like a wall, but after a long work-out he welcomed the fresh air with taking a deep breath–

–and almost immediately held it, because movement in the corner of his eye had him alert in a second, and without a moment's pause he'd advanced on the intruder with the intent to threaten, if not physically deflect.

The small yelp of surprise that followed, as well as the sight of familiar, wide grey eyes and flaxen hair, had him stumbling in his step, caught so off guard that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

For her part, Shagotte looked as though he might as well have greeted her with brandishing an axe, holding a hand to her chest to calm her breathing. And Lily didn't know whether to be absolutely furious or scared to death, because what the hell was she _doing_?

"Shagotte?"

It was the only comprehensible thing he could get out, caught as he was in a jumble of different emotions that he couldn't quite seem to sort out. Surprise, suspicion, anxiety, anger, remorse and then pushing through all of those, unhindered _happiness_ just at the sight of her.

It'd been a year since he'd last seen her. Shortly after their parting, he'd caught a notice in the papers that she'd been married. Some wealthy heir to a company in Edolas, but he hadn't bothered to read more. Hadn't had the heart to, because it had simply been too much. Hearing her talk about had been one thing – seeing the evidence was something else entirely. So to distract himself he'd thrown himself into his career, worked himself near death to get new gigs, if only to take his mind off everything else in his life. In the ring, he could escape. It was the one place where he didn't have to think about her, where all that mattered was his opponent, and the game.

In the months that followed her marriage, she disappeared from the papers altogether. He'd heard rumours of a child, but hadn't bothered to look into it. Hadn't _managed_, because the thought had been hell enough without the living evidence.

"_Stuck here for the rest of my days with a man that's not you, bearing children that won't be yours?" _

All he could comfort himself with had been the fact that perhaps she'd be happy with another man, and that being a mother would remove any regrets about the child's parentage. He'd hoped her future would be a good one, and that she would live to have no regrets about the choices she'd made.

But taking in the sight of her now, red-rimmed eyes hollow in her face above circles that betrayed a lack of sleep, and a grief so sharp it was tangible evident on her face...

"Lily," she began, her voice breaking on the last syllable before tears pushed their way to her eyes, and before he could react she'd pushed away from the wall and thrown her arms around him, and the open sobs that shook her were such a surprise he didn't quite know what to do other than close his arms around her in return.

He'd never seen her like this. Always so composed, even at their parting she'd held her head high despite her tears. Now she shook against him, small hands fisting in the shirt at his back, and he didn't know what was more disconcerting – that she was in shambles, or that she'd sought him out in such a public place, after everything they'd done to be discreet in the past. But he said nothing, only tightened his grip around her small frame as his mind raced with the possibilities behind her state. His hands shook at the thought that her husband...

Anger leaped within him, so startling after a year of suppressing it he almost recoiled, but he forced it down enough to think clearly. He'd never been one for jumping to conclusions, and he wasn't about to start now.

Loosening his grip, his hands found her shoulders, holding her at arms length so he could better look at her. Her hair was unkempt, and her dress seemed like something she'd thrown on without much thought. The coat over her shoulders was much too big on her – her husbands, no doubt – and even if it was a triviality it made his fingers twitch to remove it. But he knew she'd freeze without it, and so he pushed his mind away from the coat and to the woman it covered.

"What happened?" he asked, his anger creeping into his voice without meaning to, but it didn't seem to phase her. "Shagotte?"

She shook her head, as though she couldn't find the words, and tears spilled from the corners of her eyes to run down her cheeks. "I–" she averted her gaze. "I needed to see you."

The quite obvious fact that she wasn't telling him what was wrong had a dread like no other unfurl in the pit of his stomach, and for the first time in a long time, Lily felt the sharp grip of fear as it latched onto his heart. "Sha–"

"I need to tell you – I," she stopped, biting down on her lip. "You need to know. Even if...even if I can't do anything to change it, you need to _know_."

He couldn't understand what she was saying; she almost seemed to be talking to herself rather than him. "What do I need to know?"

She smiled then, and it was a heartbroken twist of the lips that did nothing to lift his anxiety. She inhaled deeply through her nose. "I need to tell you why I got married. "

His brows furrowed at her words, and his hands tightened around her arms. "Your father–"

She shook her head. "He wasn't going to push me. He would have given me time – a year, if I needed. Two, even, if I'd asked."

He didn't know where she was going with her confession. "Then why...?" His query trailed off, at a loss of words. Her declaration confused him. If that was the truth, why had she gotten married less than a month after they'd parted? She'd been so adamant on refusing, he'd had a hard time grasping the fact when it had been presented to him so soon.

She inhaled sharply, and then she met his gaze, and the grief in them were as sharp as the sudden steel. "I was pregnant."

Someone might as well have socked him, for the way her words hit home. Like a well-aimed strike to the solar plexus, it had all the air in his lungs leave him in a suffocating breath, and he could only stare at her. And for all his level-headedness and calm, Lily felt suddenly and violently out of his depth.

"_**What?" **_

He didn't even recognize his own voice as he spoke – the broken rasp that carried an equal amount of disbelief as it did fear. His throat tightened. What–

"I had to do something," she said, her words escaping her in a rush. "I...I didn't know what _else_. Had it been only the two of us...we could have eloped, but you didn't want to, and with a child..." Her words stumbled across each other, and she shook her head. "Lily, I didn't have a _choice_. I–"

"Shagotte," he cut her off, having regained enough of his mind to process what she was telling him. "Are you...what are you saying?" Because she couldn't be telling him what he thought she was. It was _absurd_.

Well, not in its entirety, but that was _beside the point. _

Her gaze hadn't left his own, and she nodded, once, and Lily didn't know whether to weep or destroy something – there was too much running through his mind to get a grip of a coherent thought. "How–"

"The doctor said she was premature," she went on, and this time she looked away. "He had to have known she wasn't, but I suppose he merely assumed we hadn't been able to wait, or that it was part of the reason we got married so soon." She shook her head, as though ashamed. The 'we' cut like a knife, but it was lost in the well of thoughts as his mind found another to latch on to.

"She?"

At this, a smile broke through the grief on her face.

He didn't know what to feel – happiness seemed such a blasphemous thing, all things considered. "But–" he couldn't even say it; couldn't point out the fact that was nagging at his mind. She was speaking as though there hadn't been anything amiss; that the child had quite evidently been her husband's. But that was _ridiculous._ Surely, with the two of them...

She shrugged, the action raising her shoulders ever so slightly, and though such a small action, it seemed to take more effort than she had strength to make. "I don't know how," she said, and her voice was such a small thing in the empty alley, it nearly broke his heart. She shook her head. "There's no way to tell." She laughed then, and it was a mirthless, hollow sound that cut deeper than the sharp winter wind. "She looks like _me_ – that's what they all say. All me, and nothing like...like _him_." She clenched her eyes shut. "He is so proud, though. And...and he has _no_ _idea_..."

She seemed torn between laughing and weeping, and Lily didn't know what was more appropriate.

"And you're certain...?" he asked then, because he had to. Because his mind couldn't wrap itself around the fact that she– that _they_–

She nodded. "They had to refit my mother's wedding dress. The dress that had always been a perfect fit for me – my mother was heartbroken. She kept telling me I should watch what I was eating..." she shook her head, as though she was speaking of an old story that had used to be funny, but had ceased to be without her noticing it. She looked at him then, and the certainty in her eyes was like another punch.

"There isn't doubt in my mind," she said. "She's yours."

His hands slackened their hold on her arms, falling to his sides, and all he could seem to do was look at her. She looked so small, standing before him, and now that he looked he could see the slight swell of her stomach – remnants of a birth that it was taking him all his willpower to imagine, let alone come to grips with. A child.

_His child. _

"I'm so sorry," she said then, and something seemed to break in her, but before she could double over, he'd caught her, and pressed her against him with so much force he surprised even himself. He'd never felt weaker – drained of all his energy and strength, but as she all but collapsed against him he found he had enough for her. The strength it had to have taken to put up her charade was more than he could give her, but he was damned well going to try.

"Why are you apologizing?" His voice was rough against her hair – as though he hadn't used it in days.

She shook her head, her hair tickling his nose. "I should have said something – should have _done_ something, but I _panicked, _Lily. I couldn't – if I'd run away, something might have happened. I...and then when I married I was so afraid. If she'd...if she'd..." she trailed off, unable to speak the words, but he knew without hearing them.

If she'd looked like him, there was no telling what her husband would have done.

His hands shook as he held her close, and he didn't know what to feel. Happiness, because he had a daughter, or remorse, because for all it was worth, he would never know her. If what Shagotte was saying was true, and there was no way of telling, no one would believe anything else. Not her husband, and certainly not the girl, when she grew up. The girl–

"What...what is her name?"

It was nothing, but then it was everything. He knew with a staggering certainty that she would never know him, but a desperation to know _her_ surged within him with such force it almost startled him out of his stupor.

She didn't move, but from where her head was buried in his collar, he caught her words. "Charle._ I _named her Charle." The last part was added with a tangible note of possessiveness, and despite everything, for Lily it was _something_. It wasn't her husband's doing; not his mark on what was theirs. And though it by no means removed the helpless grief that was trying to undo him, it was something.

"She's beautiful, you know," came her voice then. "Absolutely perfect."

And even as she spoke of her, the little creature that was his as much as it was hers, Lily couldn't seem to wrap his mind around it.

Small hands tightened against his back. "I don't want her growing up not knowing you," she said then, defiance creeping into her tone.

"It'll be for the best," he said. Not for him, but for her, certainty. She would grow up on the privileged side of life, with doors open for her wherever she turned. And for an instant, he was thankful she hadn't inherited any of his traits – glad, because that would make her future so infinitely much better. Being black was bad enough – because visibly _half_ was worse. Shunned by both sides, it wasn't a fate he wished on a child, let alone his own daughter.

Even if it meant she would have to grow up without him.

"I doesn't need to be this way," Shagotte spoke then, her words muffled against his shirt. "We could still leave. We–"

"She'll have a future." She said nothing, and Lily continued. "If she stays here, she'll have a future."

Shagotte pushed away from him, hands flat against his chest. "And you?" she asked.

He didn't know what to say to that, so he shrugged, and attempted a smile. "I'll be watching from the sidelines," he told her. "And I'll be proud of her regardless. Even if she never lays eyes on me."

She shook her head, defiant. "Lily–"

"What other option is there?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it. "I don't want this life," she said then, with a shake of her head. "I want to leave with _you_, and with her and just...start over. Somewhere else. Don't you want that, too?"

His grip tightened around her. "I would give up a thousand such futures if it means she'll grow up without a label," he told her. "If I can help it, I want every door to be open for her, even if it means giving her up."

She looked at him then, and he saw resignation in her eyes. Resignation, and sorrow.

"Do you regret that I told you?" she asked then, and he was reminded of her question from a year back. If he had any regrets. And his answer was the same.

"Never."

She said nothing to that, and her gaze fell to the ground, and he knew it wasn't what she'd hope to hear. Knew she'd wanted nothing more than to leave everything behind. For him the last year had been spent training to keep his mind off the fact that she was married to someone else. But where he could escape his thoughts in the ring, she'd lived through everything. Marriage to another man and an illegitimate pregnancy. He couldn't even begin to image her choices, and anger simmered within him at the thought that he hadn't been there for any of it.

Before he could stop himself his hand had reached for her jaw, tracing the smooth skin that hadn't changed a bit in the months that had passed. Tilting her chin, her eyes lifted back to his, and the exhaustion that leaped out at him was tangible, and his fingers tightened their grip, before he closed the remaining gap. Her tears had far from dried on her cheeks, but she pushed against him with fervour, her slender fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. She trembled against him, and he had a mind to push her jacket off her shoulders, but refrained from it, one of his hands slipping inside the heavy fabric, finding her waist and pulling her closer. She was warm where the air was cold, and after a year without her, his hands shook with the mere realization that she was with him.

The clatter of something against the cobblestones had his heart leaping into his throat, followed by the raucous laughter of men he should have heard approaching, but before he could pull away, before he had a mid to step back, a shape stumbled into the alley, only to sprawl before them. And despite his obvious inebriation, when he raised his eyes to what he'd interrupted there was no escaping the sharp furrow of his brows at the sight of them, still embracing. Lily felt frozen, and Shagotte was rigid in his arms.

"Look at 'im, the fool! Can't even hold his drink!"

More laughter followed the remark, before three other shapes materialised at the mouth of the alley. The man on the ground scrambled back, as though their very presence was a disease he would rather have at a distance, and the hatred in his eyes was palpable. Lily's grip tightened around Shagotte.

"What's wrong? Hey, what–"

Stepping up to their companion, the one who'd spoken fell silent, and Lily felt panic lurch in his throat at the sight of them. White, all four, and looking none the pleased.

"The fuck is this?" one of them asked as he stepped forward, disgust clear on his face.

"The hell d'ya think you're doin', ya fuckin' _dinge_?"

Shagotte seemed to physically recoil at the insult, but Lily tightened his grip, silencing her before she could snap back. Pushing her behind him, he never took his eyes away from the men before them, even as fear roiled in his stomach. Her hands tightened in the shirt at his back, and he could feel her tremble against him.

One of the four spat on the ground. "Look at 'im, actin' like he's some kind of gentleman. D'ya fancy yerself one of us, huh? Think you can just take one of _our _women–"

"Excuse me!?"

Lily winced at the shrill sound of her voice, but he held out a hand to stop her from physically stepping forward. "Shagotte," he warned.

From the abject aversion on the man's face, she might as well have spat at him. One of the others cursed under his breath, and stepped forward, and Lily moved back, pushing Shagotte with him. Hopelessness clutched at his heart as he searched for a way out – any way out. If not for both of them, then for her. "I want no trouble," he said, hoping to stall them, if anything.

One at the back snorted. "Listen to that – spade talks like he's posh. The hell d'ya think you are, talking like a white man? Like you've got a right to speak to us?"

Shagotte bristled against him, but Lily shifted so she was hidden from view. "I meant no disrespect."

That made them laugh, but not the amused laughter from before. This was dark, humourless laughter, and it cut into him with the promise it bore. He wondered if he could take them all on at once.

The tallest of the four stepped forward, a dark look on his face. "We've got a way of dealing with _people_ like you," he declared, his hands clenching at his sides. "We'll demonstrate – won't we?" The other three moved to follow, and Lily pushed Shagotte further back, but he didn't have much time to consider his next move before the first hurtled towards him.

"Lily!"

The punch was deflected with ease, but before he had a chance to react another was on him in a minute, and then a third, latching around one of his arms in an effort to bring him down. A kick to his stomach had the breath knocked out of him, but he pushed them back. Seeing an opening, he threw his weight towards the fourth, barrelling into him with enough force to send him sprawling on the stones.

Twisting around, he met her gaze. "GO!"

When she hesitated, he felt like howling. "What are you waiting for? RUN!" A punch caught him across the brow, and he flinched, but clamped down on the man's wrist in an attempt to force him down.

But Shagotte only shook her head, hands fisting at her sides. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Loyal little bitch, aren't you?" the fourth man mused, raising himself from the cobblestones and wiping his bleeding lip, before he began towards her. Nodding to the other three, they proceeded to put their entire weight on him at once, and Lily struggled as he was pushed down.

"No!"

Backing away until her back hit the wall, Shagotte shot him a panicked look, before she made a break for it. She didn't get far, and yelled when the man caught her, before he proceeded to drag her out of the shadows. Kicking her feet, her curses were tinged with a fear that had Lily pushing himself to his feet.

"Restrain him, goddamnit!"

The distinct sound of breaking glass reached his ears, before something sharp collided with his face, and he yelled at the searing pain slicing across his face.

"_LILY!" _

Blood dripped into his eyes, and he stumbled in his step, his knee hitting the sharp stones before a kick he hadn't seen coming sent him sprawling. The pain had him seeing white, and he could feel the warmth of his own blood as it ran down his neck.

"Hold him down."

"No! Lily – Lily! Let me _go, _damn you!"

A hand fisted in his hair, jerking his head up from where it had been pressed against the ground, and Lily blinked past the blood in an attempt to clear his vision. Before him, the tallest of the three had a tight grip on Shagotte's jaw as she struggled, and a fury like no other surged through him, pushing past the pain and disorientation. He lunged forward, but before he could get closer, there were hands forcing him back down.

"Oh, no you don't. We've got a bit of a show to put on for you. Bit like the one you treated us to earlier," a voice sneered next to his ear, followed by Shagotte's righteous snarl when one of them yanked the coat off her shoulders. However, her fury did little to cover up the naked fear in her eyes, and when her gaze met his Lily felt all reason leave him. Pushing himself up, he threw one of his assailants off and relief surged within him when the last two slackened their grip.

Then something struck the side of his head, and his vision swam so violently he lost his footing. His head hit the cobblestones and blood thundered in his ears, drowning out the frantic scream of his name. Blinking to clear his eyes, he tried to regain his focus. Shagotte's fury seemed to have pushed past her fear, because as the tall one slipped the coat fully off her shoulders she leaped to her feet, biting down on the hand that held her jaw with enough force to make the man's howl echo bounce against the walls of the alley. Stepping onto his foot with the heel of her shoe, she lurched away and towards where they held him down.

"Insolent chit!"

A hand reached out before she got far enough, fisting in her hair before yanking her back. Losing her footing, she fell against the stones, but the hand holding her hair didn't slacken its grip, lifting her face and keeping her upright as she knelt on the stones. When she met his gaze, her eyes were watery, and Lily tried to struggle against the three holding him down. If he could just–

The tell-tale click of a gun had his eyes flying open, and his muddled mind screeched to a halt as his gaze shot back to Shagotte. Her eyes were wide in her pale face, and even if she was looking at him directly, her gaze seemed to go right through him.

The man above her snarled as he pointed the weapon at the back of her head. "Should have kept still, but I see you're as much of a savage as your pet. Shame, too. You're a pretty woman, for a _traitor_."

She met his gaze then, and he could only watch in horror as she mouthed something to him. And even if her trembling made it hard to tell what she was trying to say, he didn't need to see it to know.

'I love you'.

"_**No–!"**_

The gun went off.

* * *

Waking was a slow crawl out of the darkness around him, and he felt the hopelessness of it even as he tried, fought, clawed at the haze surrounding him. There was a reason he needed to wake, but he couldn't remember what it was. Something demanded he get up. Had he been knocked out? Was the ref counting?

"...ily..."

"...y...Li..."

But it wasn't numbers he heard above him as he slowly came back to himself, and there were no indignant shouts around him, or taunting jeers. It was quiet, and through the fog covering his eyes and ears there was a voice. Familiar and frantic, and as he slowly blinked his eyes open, Nadi's face materialized before him.

"He's awake! He's awake!"

The scrape of a chair screeched loudly in his ears, but he didn't have the strength to react. He tried moving his arms or his legs, but he was having a hard time imagining the effort, let alone making it. Speaking seemed an easier option, but even that demanded more strength than he felt he had.

"Na...di?" His voice was hoarse, and he barely recognized it. For his part, Nadi didn't seem to be paying attention, and a moment later his vision was obscured by orange.

"Can you hear me, Lily?"

Clenching his eyes shut, Lily opened them again, and focused them on the blurry image of his manager. "Nichiya. What–" his words were swallowed in a cough, and his eyes watered as his throat closed up. There was a scuffle around him, before a glass was pushed against his lips, and he drank without thinking, because in his state there wasn't much else he could do. The water felt cool against his throat, and once the thought registered, so did a lot of other things. There was an ache in his back, and his legs, and his arms, and his cheeks _throbbed_. Not with the pain of a fading bruise – this was something else. What had happened? He tried to search his mind, but it was a muddled jumble, and the effort only gave him a headache.

Focusing his eyes on the head hovering above him, Lily attempted speaking again. "What happened?" Moving his lips felt...odd, as though straining against something. It felt like stitches, from what he could remember of the time he'd knocked a tooth clean through his cheek. Had he been in the ring? He couldn't even remember, but he certainty felt like he'd been fighting. That, and lost horribly. His head throbbed in tandem with his cheeks.

The face above him contorted into a frown, and Nichiya shared a glance with Nadi. "You don't remember?"

Brows furrowing – and straining against something that had to be another bandage – Lily tried to glare. "Would I be asking if I could?" he croaked. Their apprehension was making him feel sick – was there something they weren't telling him? If he'd been in the ring, Nichiya would be lamenting his loss, or half-way through a speech about getting them back next time. There would be good humour in his voice, either way.

There was nothing even resembling humour on the older man's face, and Lily's stomach roiled at the implications.

Not the ring then. Something else. A riot? He couldn't remember a riot, and he always stayed away from those, anyway. Then what–

"_**LILY!"**_

He had no warning before the memories slammed against him with enough force to knock him back out, and his eyes flew wide open as the events leading up to his current state came back in a rush.

"No!" Pushing himself up, he snarled at the hands pushing him back down. "Get offa me!"

Nadi didn't meet his furious gaze, and Lily felt like howling at the ease with which the smaller man managed to restrain him. "Lily, please–"

"Where is she?!"

Neither man answered him, and desperation mingled with terror as he tried to push himself back up. His muscles strained against his movements; full-blown convulsions that hurt so much his vision swam with the pain.

"Lily!" Nichiya snapped, tone uncharacteristically sharp for his mellow nature. "You need to calm down, you'll reopen–"

He didn't know where the strength came from, but one of his hands found the front of the man's shirt, and he yanked. "Answer me!" Nichiya met his gaze calmly – too calmly, in Lily's opinion, but there was a grief there that made him forget everything else. His grip slackened. "No."

"Lily–"

"I'm sorry, Lily," Nadi spoke up, voice meek. "We...she was already..." He wrung his hands, searching for words. "I wouldn't have heard if I hadn't gone back to get my gloves, but then...and you were..."

Nichiya sighed, and the action seemed to age him ten years. "If Nadi hadn't found you, you would be dead, too. They scrambled off when they heard him." Their voices seemed far away, as though in another room entirely, and Lily couldn't summon enough strength to speak. Simply breathing was an effort, and for all of Nichiya's words, he might as well be dead.

"What..." he couldn't even finish his question.

They shared a look, and then Nadi averted his gaze to the floor. Nichiya sighed. "They took her away after we alerted the police. I provided a statement, and for the moment they've chalked it up to assault and mu–" he stopped himself, but the blow had already been dealt. He sighed. "Her husband," at this Lily visibly flinched, and Nichiya looked apologetic. "Her husband went looking for her when he noticed she was missing," he said.

There was a laden silence, and Lily didn't know what to say – didn't even know how to breach the subject. It was simply _too much._

Nichiya was speaking then, but his words hardly registered. "Nadi got you away before they came. As far as anyone is concerned, she was the only casualty. They–"

Lily couldn't listen. _Wouldn't_ listen, because how could he, without physically breaking apart? There was a pain so heavy on his chest he couldn't breathe past it; a barbed steel wire so tight around his heart it was slowly choking him to death. He couldn't imagine it. Images pushed at his mind – the sight of her frightened eyes as the gun was pushed into her neck – and nausea pushed against his throat. It was too much. _Too much_, and though he'd handled his fair share of hardships in his life, this was simply too much for him to handle. His body shook with the despair that clawed at his insides, and he could do nothing to alleviate the feeling. All he could to was close his eyes, and even as he did he felt the unfamiliar surge of tears as they pushed against the lids of his eyes. But where he'd so many times in the past pushed them back, he offered no resistance. He simply didn't have the will left.

And so for the first time in years, he wept.

* * *

Nadi said nothing as he packed his bag, but Lily felt his eyes on his back, and the regret was such a heavy thing, it was like a blanket over the two of them. But he said nothing as he shoved whatever meagre belongings he owned into the old rucksack on the bed.

"Hey...Lily..." Nadi began, but then promptly stopped.

Lily didn't pause in his packing, but didn't have the words to reply, and Nadi fell silent again. He hadn't said much since entering the room. Neither of them had, and if it hadn't been for the fact that he couldn't summon anything else but grief, Lily might have been ashamed that their parting would be like this. They'd been friends a long time, and Nadi deserved more than a silent goodbye.

His hands halted as they reached for his gloves, resting so innocently on the bed, and his heart broke at the sight of them. For a split second, he contemplated leaving them behind.

But the thought had barely registered before he was stuffing them into his bag, his fingers lingering against the carved letter by the straps, tracing the indentation like he'd done so many times before so many fights, and his heart broke all over again.

Snapping the buckles closed, he steeled himself, inhaling deeply through his nose as he pushed back the sorrow. Turning around, he met Nadi's eyes, and he felt momentarily ashamed at the sadness evident in them.

"Nadi."

The younger man looked up, and nodded. "You, uh, you ready?" His voice was hoarse, and he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Lily nodded, and Nadi's gaze shifted towards the door awkwardly. "I'll...I'll go tell Nichiya then," he mumbled, turning for the door.

Lily stopped him, a hand on his shoulder. "This wasn't your fault," he said then, the words carrying more force than he felt himself capable of, but it was important, because he knew Nadi blamed himself for having left in the first place.

Meeting his gaze, he looked doubtful, and Lily tightened his grip. He wanted to tell him that there was only one person to blame, and that was Lily himself. His affair had been of his own making, and he had been the one to push her away when she'd pleaded with him to elope.

The thought that they could have escaped – that he could have been somewhere now, safe with Shagotte and a daughter, was almost enough to bring him to his knees. Instead, he was running away with his tail between his legs, Shagotte was dead and his daughter would never know him. That he was alive was his punishment. He had survived where she had not, and he would carry his cross until the day he died. He knew of no other way to repent.

"You sure you gonna be alright?" Nadi looked two seconds away from trying to stop him, but there was no point. He couldn't stay in Extalia.

Lily attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace. "I'll make something work," he said. It was an answer, and then it was not, but he couldn't make himself promise that he'd be alright, not when it felt as though he never would. He might be alive, but living and simply existing were two completely different things. When she'd left him, her future – her _happiness_ – had been what had driven him forward. Now she was gone, and his future with it. The only link between himself and the daughter he would never lay eyes on.

No, he would never be alright.

Nadi looked ready to argue, but kept his mouth shut, and Lily dropped his hand from his shoulder. Clearing his throat, the younger man looked towards the door. "I'll...I'll just go find Nichiya," he said, and Lily didn't stop him.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving him alone in the empty bedroom. An old clock on the wall made a hollow sound that seemed to bounce eerily off the walls. It wasn't yet dawn, and the idea was for him to get out of the city unseen. He didn't know how Nichiya had handled the situation, or what alibi he had given the police, but they had agreed it would be in everyone's best interest if Lily left the city altogether. It was a good thing that none but Nadi knew of his penchant to stay late to train, or he would have no doubt been charged without so much as a trial. As for the ones who knew the truth – their attackers – claiming it would also be admitting to the killing of a white woman, and by the way the city had reacted, Lily doubted they would ever so much as breathe a whisper of it. And as for Lily, despite his exploits in the ring, in the end he was just a black man with talent, and the city would forget his name before long.

The horrendous murder of the young heiress, however, would leave a deep imprint on Extalia.

Rubbing a hand against his forehead, Lily felt like sitting down; like succumbing to the grief that had slowly been tearing him apart through his long recovery. He had nothing left, and the choice would have been such a simple one. He could have handed himself in – claimed responsibility, and been executed for his crime. He could have, except that she would have never forgiven him for it. And if there was one thing he'd sworn he would never do, it was to let her down again.

Inhaling deeply, he reached for his bag, slinging it over his shoulder before he made for the door. However, he hadn't taken two steps before he halted, catching sight of his reflection in the old mirror hanging on the wall to his left. The fresh scars that would never go away leaped out at him, unused to the sight of them as he still was. Against his skin, they were a stark contrast, demanding attention in their severity. The most prominent were two sharp slashes against his jaw, and one ugly, jagged cut by his left eye.

His mouth pulled down into a frown, tugging at the marks, and he turned away, unable to look at himself any longer. A living testament to his own mistakes – he wondered if he would ever be able to take in the sight of himself without physically cringing.

Making for the door, he let himself out into the hallway of Nadi's cramped home. It was dark, but after nearly a month spent getting back on his feet, he knew it in his sleep. When he arrived at the front door, both Nadi and Nichiya were waiting for him, grave looks on their faces. Lily stopped in front of them, one hand tightening around the strap of his bag. He said nothing, and for a moment, neither did they. A chasm lay between them now, where they before had been so close. His only family, in a city where he had no one.

Nichiya sighed. "I guess this is it then, my friend."

"Aa."

Turning towards the door, Nichiya moved out of the way without another word, but gripped his shoulder in passing. Lily barely registered the action; his mind wasn't with him.

Nadi spoke up, "Do you know where you're going to go?"

Halting with his hand on the doorhandle, Lily's brows furrowed as the words settled. He had planned on going to Edolas – it was far enough away, and large enough for him to be lost amongst the people there. He could get a new name, to avoid any potential awkward encounters with people who'd heard of him.

But he decided suddenly, in a surge of righteous indignation, that if fate was indeed so cruel as he imagined, he had little interest in trying to escape it anymore. If choosing the safer path had only done more damage than he'd intended, then perhaps it was time to do something drastic.

And he knew exactly what.

He didn't look back as he pressed the handle down, the heavy weight on his shoulders having nothing to do with the bag, and his voice was a dark thing in the air between them, falling like the finishing strike of an already destined match. The knock-out punch.

"Magnolia."

* * *

AN: I broke my heart writing this. And I know that genetically it's a bit far-fetched that Charle wouldn't have inherited any of Lily's apparent features, but let's just remember that they're supposed to be Exceeds and go with **cat genetics **to make this plausible. Artistic liberties, ahoy!

I'll go nurse my bleeding heart now.


	19. back to business

AN: And we're back in Magnolia again. Time to figure out what you want, Levy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XIX**

"And that's when I came here. I worked my way up in the ring, did the occasional job for Makarov, bought the Pit with his help and that's where I've been ever since."

Leaning back in his chair, Lily watched her closely from under the brim of his sixpence. And in the sharp glare of the electric lights, the jagged scars on his jaw that she'd only made note of in passing were starkly prominent against his dark skin.

Levy couldn't even find the words to respond; could only stare back with eyes wide in horror. Her hands shook in her lap, and she realized with a start that she was crying. "Oh."

A handkerchief was proffered, and she took it to wipe at her eyes. Lily said nothing, and after the last hour of hearing his voice, the silence that remained was almost deafening. Fingers clutching the soft cloth, Levy moved her hands to her lap to keep them from shaking. Looking at the man before her – a man she'd liked upon first meeting him solely based on his kind manner and smooth words – it was still hard to grasp that he carried such a story on his shoulders. But he had the scars to prove it, both the ones visible on his face as well as the deeply etched sorrow in his eyes that was now so clearly visible. Now that she finally recognized it for what it was it was hard to imagine ever having overlooked it.

Of course, she'd known he couldn't have had an _easy_ life. Coloured men rarely did, and even less so the ones who strove to change their fate. But she'd only known him as _Lily_, the owner of a boxing club, associate of Makarov, and whose name was whispered with equal amounts awe and reverence amongst those who frequented the speakeasy. She hadn't taken into account upon meeting him, that he _was_ considerably older than her, and that there had to have been a reason a man like him didn't have a family of his own save the boys he pulled off he street and trained at the Pit.

"I'm so sorry," she said finally, because it was the only thing she could deem appropriate. Lifting her gaze, she met his, and he offered her a smile, as though she was the one who needed it.

"What for? It was through no fault of yours."

She shook her head, opening her mouth, and then closed it. "I just..."

"Don't feel responsible just because you come from her world," he told her then, his look sharp, and Levy nodded, although it did little to remove the clawing ache of _guilt _that had settled in her stomach. Lily sighed. "Listen, Miss–"

"Just 'Levy', please," she cut him off, with a blush. "I should think us friends, now."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Aa. Levy, then. The reason I told, you – I'm assuming you've figured it out?"

She averted her gaze. "I might have an idea."

"I made my mistakes," Lily continued. "And I paid dearly for them. If I could go back, I would. I'd go back and take her up on her offer in an instant. I wouldn't have pushed her away."

She said nothing to that, because she didn't quite know _what_ to say. She knew where he was going with his words, and she knew, too, that he had a point. "Gajeel can take care of himself, you know," he said then. "Whatever you're protecting him from, I doubt he needs it. He's been dealing with Ivan for the past two years, and you know the kind of people he ran with before Makarov. He's not some wet-eared rookie."

She shook her head. "I know that. I just...I don't want to lose anyone else. And with him...I just...I can't take it, if anything were to happen, and it was _my fault."_

Lily was silent a moment, before asking. "Do you know how many times I've asked myself if she could have lived, if I hadn't pushed her away?"

"Lily–"

"Do you? Because it's been a question that's been with me for fifteen years. Does it make it my fault, that she was killed?"

Levy opened her mouth, but the look on his face had her closing it. Lifting his sixpence, Lily ran a hand through his hair. "Gambling your heart isn't an easy choice, but in the end, I know I'd rather have gambled than walked away. Don't be stupid, not when you have the chance to be _happy_. And I ain't saying that just for your sake – I'm saying it for his, too."

Levy looked at him, a slight tilt to her head as she took in the serious expression on his face. There was no teasing glint in his eyes now – this was important to him. And she found that, even if he'd never known his daughter, the man before her was every inch a concerned father.

She smiled then, and some of the tension in his shoulders loosened, along with the heavy weight in the air between them. And for a moment, they simply sat in silence. The gym was empty, the crowd having long since left for the victory-party, leaving a sea of empty chairs and clutter. The electric lights flickered overhead.

"Do you miss her?" she asked then, after a lull, although she already knew the answer.

A wistful smile stretched across his lips, tugging at his scars. "Every day."

She inhaled sharply. "And...your daughter?"

Lily shrugged. "Some say you can't miss what you've never had, but I beg to differ. It's not an hour when I don't think about her, and what became of her."

Something clamped around her heart. "You've heard nothing?"

"Not in fifteen years."

She fidgeted with the handkerchief in her hands. The thought was difficult to wrap her mind around. Knowing you had a daughter, and having to grow old without so much as a word of her well-being.

"All I know is that her name is Charle," he said, with a shrug. "She'll be turning sixteen soon, I imagine." He shook his head. "I don't know her birthday."

Levy's heart dropped into her stomach. "Sixteen," she repeated. She'd be presented to society soon, if she hadn't already. Levy remembered her own début, and though it had been an overall uneventful experience – she hadn't been the _least_ interested in getting married – she'd felt so pretty in her mother's dress. And her father had all but reeked with pride when he'd presented her at the ball.

Looking over at Lily, Levy wondered if he knew of the tradition, but decided that if he didn't, telling him would only make it worse. So she kept her mouth shut, and wondered if, in a city across the border, a pretty young girl was trying on her dress for the first time. Perhaps it was _her_ mother's. She also wondered, if Shagotte had lived, would the girl would have found out about her real father? From the way Lily had spoken of her, Levy through she might have.

But she was gone, wasn't she? And no one was left to tell their story but Lily.

"Why haven't you gone back?"

He gave her a wry look, but the hurt in his eyes betrayed his amusement. "And what would I do? She'll have been raised with a father, and no one will have told her that he's anything else. Who would? Shagotte was the only one who knew, and even if I tried to find her, she'll be white, and upper class, and I'll simply be a black man claiming paternity for a girl who looks nothing like me."

She knew he had no intention to sound harsh – he was Lily, after all – but his words cut deeply, and Levy wiped her frustrated tears with the handkerchief. Anger bubbled in her stomach now, curling loose tendrils around her insides and making her seethe. She knew it wasn't Shagotte's husband's fault – the man was probably oblivious to the whole thing having taken place right under his nose. For all he knew, he was raising his own daughter, and he might even be doing a wonderful job, but however she tried to placate her mind, all she ended up with was a righteous fury that wished for nothing more than to go to Extalia and find the girl and tell her the _truth_.

"I know what you're thinking," Lily said then, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she blushed. "And believe me when I say it's no use."

"But–"

"What would you have said, if five years ago, a black man had showed up at your door, claiming to be your father?" he asked then, catching her off guard. There was no humour in his eyes, just resignation. "What if he'd told you that your mother had an affair before she married the man who, for the past fifteen years, has raised you and loved you. What would you have said?"

She closed her mouth as realization settled, and the true hopelessness of the situation forcibly drove out whatever meagre hopes she'd entertained.

Because she'd have thought it ridiculous. She, who was _white,_ and who'd loved her father so dearly, and though she had few memories of her mother, the mere thought of her having had any kind of affair outside her marriage to her father was _absurd_. She'd grown up with her father's stories of how he'd met and courted her mother, and she'd let her imagination do the rest. If anyone were to have told her that her real father had been someone else...a black man from the lower class...

"Oh, Lily..."

There was no anger now – only grief. Grief, for the man in front of her who didn't deserve the cards fate had dealt him, but who could do nothing to chance his deck.

A smile pulling at his lips, Lily reached out to ruffle her hair. "Your tears are flattering, but I don't deserve them. I made my choice, and I have to life with the consequences. I know now that Makarov could have taken us in, if I'd listened to Shagotte. I was a fool to doubt her in the first place, and for that doubt I lost her for good. But there's a girl somewhere with my blood in her veins that is a living testament of the best thing that ever happened to me, and she'll be what keeps me going, even if she'll never know who I am."

Levy wiped at her eyes. "And will you _never_ go back?" Not even in the future, to see what had become of her?

Lily sighed, and shrugged. "It's a decision I'm still contemplating. Maybe I will go back someday, to see if she's happy. That's the only thing I need – to know she's doing well. I've had my share of joy since I came to Magnolia. Saying anything else would be belittling what I've been given. I've raised my fair share of runts, haven't I?" he asked with a grin.

Levy nodded, remembering the travelling magician that had visited briefly; Makarov's spy. And...

"Has he changed much, since he was younger? Gajeel, that is."

Lily's smile was sly, as though he was sitting on information no one else was privy to, and Levy frowned at the look. "Well," he began, tone almost cheerful, in light of their conversation, and when he spoke she could swear he'd raised his voice ever so slightly. "He's still too arrogant for his own good, and he fancies himself the best thing the ring's seen in decades, but, I'd say he's changed a good deal." A strange look tugged his brows down as he shot her a look. "Of course, you didn't know him when he ran with Jose, but since Makarov took him in he's become much more sociable."

She smiled. "He has his moments, though, doesn't he? He's very stubborn."

Lily snorted. "That's an understatement, my dear, and nothing will ever drive that out of him, I'm afraid."

She sighed, shaking her head with a smile. "I don't know what to do about him, though. I mean, there's just so much going on, and..." she trailed off.

Lily shifted in his seat. "Well, why don't you just talk to him about it?"

She looked at him. "Is he still in the locker room, you think?"

Lily hummed. "Funny that you should ask that..."

Levy frowned, and was about to open her mouth when movement in the corner of her eye had her jumping in her seat. "Relax, shortstuff," Gajeel drawled as he stepped out from behind the wall to her immediate left. Where usually there would have been a smirk on his face at her expense, there was only an oddly serious expression marring it now. Levy gaped. How long had he been standing there?

Gajeel looked uncomfortable. "Sorry for eavesdroppin', Lil."

Lily shrugged. "I knew you were there – I wouldn't have said anything I didn't want you to know," he said, before raising a brow. "I'd have told you years ago if you'd _asked_," he added, not without a hint of playful reprimand.

Gajeel snorted. "I don't pry," he said, and Lily nodded, no doubt already aware.

For her part, Levy was still reeling from the fact that he'd been standing there all along, and wondered with her heart in her throat if she'd said anything embarrassing. Oh, _no_ – she'd pried into his character, and he'd _heard_. He'd never let her live it down.

An awkward lull passed where neither of them said anything, and Levy fidgeted with the handkerchief while she tried sneaking a glance to see if he was alright. He should by rights be unconscious from what he'd put himself through, but she guessed he was too stubborn for that. The light overhead made the perspiration on his brow stand out, and she felt worry clench in the pit of her stomach at the sight. Now that she was noticing it, his breathing seemed a little heavier than usual, too. Of course, it was hard to tell anything for certain, when he was pointedly _not looking at her. _

Lily's snort drew both their attentions, and Levy felt like averting her eyes at the abject exasperation on the older man's face. "You two," he began, leaning back in his chair, "are like a two-man show for the rest of us, only as an audience, I'm going to have to say the treading on eggshells is getting a little old."

"Oye–"

"Just tell her how you feel, you stubborn idiot, and _you_," he turned his attention to Levy so quickly she startled, "my dear girl, need to make up your mind, and make the right decision this time. Take it from someone who knows the ropes – you don't want to be sitting alone with your regrets in the end."

Neither of them said anything to that, and Lily smiled, visibly pleased with himself. Looking up from where her hands were folded in her lap, Levy was surprised to find Gajeel looking at her, and did her best not to look away. He seemed to be thinking deeply about something, but then the corner of his mouth quirked upwards, and her heart skipped a beat in her chest.

"Well," Lily said then as he rose to his feet, dusting himself off before offering a hand to Levy, who accepted it. Had it been a day before, she would almost have expected Gajeel to make a fuss, but with Lily's story still heavy on their minds, any misconceptions between them were seemingly forgotten. "It's getting late, and you should probably be heading back."

Gajeel nodded. "I'll make sure she gets back safe," he said.

"Don't be a fool – I'll go with you," Lily said, giving him a look. "There was a lot of money running on that match, and not all of it on you, Gajeel. If anyone's waiting, you'll want backup."

Levy felt a sudden sense of dread, and wrung her hands around the handkerchief. Lily shot her a smile. "Don't worry, this part of town is usually safe, but I'll go check with Wakaba about closing up, anyways. Wait here a moment, yeah?"

Gajeel nodded, and Lily walked off towards the front doors, leaving them alone.

Levy swallowed.

"Nervous, shortstuff?"

His smirk made her blush, but she ignored it with a raised brow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The smirk widened into a grin, and she found herself returning it. It was odd how the dynamic between them fluctuated so wildly. A week ago they'd been close to mortal enemies, and somewhere in between, something had changed – shifted, and now she couldn't even place a label on it anymore. They hadn't had a chance to properly discuss anything – the events of the last few days had been such a whirlwind of different things that caught in the midst of it all, she hadn't even had much time to sit down and _think_.

She knew what she wanted. Knew it, and it was as selfish a desire as she'd ever remembered feeling. Even more selfish, perhaps, that pushing him away in the first place. But Lily's story still clung to the forefront of her mind, and she couldn't help but wonder, if she backed away now, years in the future, would she regret her choice? Would she be alone somewhere, with or without her fortune, and longing for the hidden glamour of illegal drinking joints, the smell of cigarette smoke and an infuriating smirk?

She knew why Lily had sat her down and told her his story. Not because her situation was as doomed as his had been all those years ago, but because it was _different_. Times were changing, _slowly_, but changing regardless, and though aristocrat by blood, she wasn't upper class anymore. And even if she hadn't been born in the Alleys, she belonged there as much as Gajeel did now, because the name McGarden had nothing of the worth it had once held.

And where did that leave her?

She was free. Even if, by some miracle, her father's name was ever cleared, she was, in essence, free to do as she pleased. She was a recognized adult by right, and the sole remainder of her line. There was no one left to dictate how she should live, or who she should choose to live her life with. The odds were, clearing her father's name would take years, if it would ever happen. Had she planned on spending all those years alone?

Gajeel winced as he adjusted the bag over his shoulder, before taking it off and placing it by his feet, oblivious to her close scrutiny. He hadn't changed much other than a new shirt, and his suspenders hung loosely from the waistline of his pants. Opening the bag at his feet, he rifled through it, before pulling out a cord to fasten his loose hair at the nape of his neck. Next, he found a pack of cigarettes, and she watched with curious fascination as he lighted one and put it to his lips.

And she found herself smiling, suddenly, realizing that avenging her family alone had been a bit of a stretch. Hadn't she told Jet she'd need Gajeel if she ever wanted to get close to Alexei, or Ivan or whatever the man's name truly was? And Lily was right – trying to keep him out of it when he was in even deeper than she was had been rather foolish.

He took a long drag of the cigarette, and his shoulders visibly relaxed as some of the tension drained from them. Straightening with another wince, he lifted his gaze back to hers. His brows furrowed as he caught the look on her face. "What?"

She smiled then. She knew what she wanted now.

"I just wanted to say–"

The sudden screech of the front doors cut through the silence, and Levy's gaze shot to the doorway, where four shapes had materialized and were now moving towards them. When they came into the glare of the overhanging lights, her heart dropped into her stomach.

"Oh, _applesauce."_

Loke flashed her a charming smile, tipping his hat as he came to stand in front of them. At his heels walked a grim-faced Makarov and an even more sour Porlyusica, and behind her, Lily lingered, a curious look on his face. Levy could only stare with slowly dawning horror as she realized she didn't actually know if Gajeel had been told exactly who her new bodyguard was.

Which brought her mind back to the fact that they had _a lot_ to talk about.

"There you are, Miss Levy," he greeted, before raising a brow in a mildly patronising gesture. "Cana said she'd let you run off, unprotected, to see a boxing match." He clicked his tongue and shook his head, although there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. Levy didn't even know what to say to that, and she was acutely aware of multiple pairs of eyes on her. Gajeel, on the other hand, was too busy glaring at the newcomer to notice her discomfort.

"The hell are _you_ doin' here, Leo?" he asked, tone somewhere between warily curious and angry. And in the midst of her distress, Levy blinked. _Leo? _

Loke's smile was brilliant as his gaze landed on Gajeel. "Why, I'm her new bodyguard!" he announced merrily.

There was a moment of silence in which no one spoke. Levy held her breath. Then his eyes were on her, sharp and narrowed and burning like hot coals, and his voice cut through her with the force of his disapproval.

_"Fuck_ no!"

* * *

It was safe to say that Levy had made a lot of foolish decisions.

The first, evidently, being the one to push Gajeel away in order to protect him, only to have him endanger his life for her sake anyway. The other quite obvious mistake was to forget to tell him that _yes_, she'd been assigned a new bodyguard, and _yes_, Cana may have said something about him being a womaniser, but going by the look on Gajeel's face, he was more than a little aware of any faults in Loke's character.

"Now, Gajeel–" Makarov began, but was cut off by the man himself, who rounded on him, eyes flashing.

"The hell, old man?! Leo? Out of everyone of your damned hirelings and you picked _Leo_?"

Levy wondered idly anyone in Fairy Tail went by their rightful names, and how anyone could possibly keep up with all the aliases. Then again, she had a feeling multiple names was a commodity in their line of work, and so she wisely kept her mouth shut. It probably wasn't good to point out trivialities to a man who looked two seconds away from tackling Loke to the ground, anyway.

Makarov sighed. "With such a short notice, I had to take who was available at the time–"

"And there was _no one else?"_

"You make me out to be such a scoundrel, Gajeel," Loke spoke up then, humour colouring his voice despite the fact that the man was quite obviously questioning his capabilities as an escort.

Gajeel turned his glare on him. "Don't start, ya damn smooth-talker! I know how you run your business."

Loke shrugged. "And I've made no point in hiding it. I was simply asked to do a job, and I accepted."

Gajeel raised a brow. "And a _swell_ job you've done, keepin' an eye on her so far," he muttered. "Didn't see _you_ at the match – the hell does that tell ya?"

Levy gaped, outraged. "Hey! I'm not some errant _pet_–"

"That," Makarov cut her off, with an apologetic smile, "Is my fault, I'm afraid. I'd called Loke in for a meeting, and as I was detained in my office across the city I'd arranged for her to stay with Cana."

All eyes turned to Levy then, who startled at the attention, and then swallowed. A blush coloured her cheeks when she realized that she hadn't actually considered what might have happened after Cana had dropped her off outside the theatre.

Makarov quirked a knowing smile. "It would seem she was loath to miss your match, Gajeel," he said, giving the man a sideways glance that spoke volumes. Gajeel averted his gaze, and Levy marvelled at the older man's ability to make a single phrase sound like an explanation and a lecture all at once. However, the look on his face spoke of something other than mild irritation. He looked tired, but then he made no effort to hide his concern. She recognized guilt, too, and realized that he probably held himself partly responsible for Gajeel's predicament, anyway, being his employer. She'd wondered why he hadn't intervened in the first place – or why Lily hadn't, for that matter – but from what she'd learned of Ivan's character during her time with Gajeel, it wouldn't have surprised her if they'd let the match happen because the alternative was somehow worse.

The fact that it was connected to _her_ made her feel sick.

For her part, Porlyusica made no effort to hide _her_ obvious distaste of the entire business, and was glaring openly at Makarov from where she stood a pace behind him. Lily lingered beside her, and gave Levy a wink, to which she tried to smile, although the tension in the room was making it increasingly difficult.

"It ain't happening," Gajeel said, crossing his arms over his chest to punctuate his words.

Makarov sighed. "Gajeel–"

Loke raised a brow. "And who will be looking out for her while you recuperate? Will you lock her up at the speakeasy while you recover? A lady should be allowed to go out, you know. And as it so happens, there is no one else available. _You_ are in no state to do so – you can't deny that."

Levy blinked at his words, before looking at Gajeel. She honestly hadn't thought about that. In fact, she'd forgotten all about the business with needing an escort when Cana had announced that Gajeel was due in the ring, and she hadn't spared Loke a thought since. And now, even though she'd more or less decided she'd like to have Gajeel _back,_ there was the quite obvious fact that he was in no physical shape to protect her.

Loke smiled charmingly. "She'll need someone to watch her back for the time being, and as I have already been given the job, I propose I do it for as long as you need to...get back on your feet." The jibe was subtle, but even Levy caught it, although there seemed to be only good humour behind it. She wondered if they'd worked together before.

Gajeel glared regardless, eye twitching ever so slightly. "I'm doing _fine_–"

"It is decided," Makarov interrupted, voice brooking no argument. "Loke will watch over Levy while your wound heals, Gajeel, and when you are well, after _Porlyusica's_ standards, _then_ you will have your job back," he said, and there was a humorous glint in his eyes, no doubt due to the fact that he was keeping Gajeel from a job the man had no doubt vehemently refused to do in the first place. _"If_ Levy wishes it, that is," he added.

And suddenly all eyes were on her again, two pairs expectant, two curious, and one sharp from the old medic. She smiled nervously in return, before meeting Gajeel's gaze, and nodding once in affirmation. He straightened a little at that, before shooting Loke a self-satisfied smirk, and Levy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she shared a look with Lily as the two men stared each other down. Gajeel easily outmatched Loke in stature, but there was no escaping the fact that he couldn't stand completely upright, and that the sweat on his brow was looking more and more prominent.

Porlyusica stepped forward between the two. "Damn brats!" she snapped, nudging them apart. "_You_," she said, pointing a gnarled finger at Gajeel, "will do as the old fool says, or I'll make sure ya won't be cleared fer yer job until next _year_."

Gajeel grumbled, but said nothing to that, and neither did anyone else. Makarov smiled. "Ah, thank you, 'Lyusica dear–"

"And don't think I'm finished with _you_, Makarov," she snapped, and he clamped his mouth shut. Levy hid a smile behind her hand, and Lily grinned unabashedly at the entire spectacle. "I'll be having words with you about that lunatic runt of yours!" she all but growled. Makarov sighed heavily, but didn't argue with her.

When the old woman turned towards her, Levy startled, but Porlyusica only smirked. "Good to see you've made up yer damn mind," she said then, before she turned back to Gajeel. "If I so much as hear you've reopened those stitches again," she warned.

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "I heard ya the first time, hag."

She cuffed him across the back of his head, and he hissed. "And don't ya forget it!"

Makarov shook his head with a smile. "Well, it's getting late. Cana should be wrapping things up by now. We'll discuss the finer details of the arrangement tomorrow, Gajeel, Loke," he said, before turning to walk out. "I've got the car waiting outside, Levy dear. I assure you my chauffeur's driving is...not so eccentric as Cana's," he said with a secret smile, before walking off.

Before she could reply, Loke was beside her, offering his arm. "Miss Levy, I'll help you to the car."

She gaped, taken aback, but was saved from answering by Gajeel, swinging his bag over his shoulder and nearly ramming it into Loke. "My bad," he muttered as he stepped quite deliberately between them. Loke took a step back, brow raised.

"I take it you'll escort her to the car then?" he asked, challenge clear in his tone. Levy's eyes widened, before her gaze shot to Gajeel, genuinely curious to what he would do. He struck her as the least likely to offer to properly escort a lady.

Which he only confirmed by scoffing. "The fuck kind of posh ass d'ya take her for, Leo? Shorty can bloody well walk on her own."

Shooting her a look, a clear challenge of his own, she knew, Gajeel raised a brow. Levy smiled. "Damn straight," she said, and didn't miss his grin as she walked past the both of them, towards Lily, who looked beyond amused. "But that doesn't mean it's not common courtesy," she added. "Would you mind, Lily?" she asked, holding out her hand, and he grinned cheekily as he offered his arm.

"Not at all," he said, shooting a grin over his shoulder towards Gajeel, who spluttered.

"Oye!"

Loke hummed under his breath. "Lily knows the game," he mused, adjusting his hat with a smile. "You should take notes."

Gajeel growled, "Dry up, Casanova."

Loke grinned, and followed suit, only to be shoved less than subtly out of the way as Gajeel pushed past him.

On her way out, Levy tried very hard not to smile.

* * *

AN: The last scene was inspired by the adorable 'don't-expect-me-to-ask-you-to-dance' scene from the anime, but I just couldn't resist. Lily is so much smoother than Gajeel, anyway. If he was human in the manga he'd have all the girls – just sayin'.

Next up: Lucy is introduced to Loke, and Natsu is not impressed.


	20. drugstore cowboy

AN: This takes place during chapter 13-14, i.e. right before the big match. And **you still don't have to read this if you don't like NaLu**; you won't miss out on anything other than seeing parts of the story from a different perspective.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XX**

"You sure you don't want to come downstairs, Levy?"

Turning her head to the sound of her name, Levy shook it, an odd smile on her face. Perched on the windowsill with her knees pulled up, she looked a sorry state, but Lucy hadn't been able to get a word out of her since she'd come in the night before. She figured it had something to do with her less-than-sociable escort, but her friend didn't seem eager to discuss it, so she'd let the subject drop. Personally, Lucy was thankful she'd been assigned to Natsu, who was much more pleasant and mild-mannered. Not that Levy had complained _much_, but from what Lucy had gathered, Gajeel was more than a little infuriating. And if her friend's crush was anything to go by, she couldn't be having the easiest of times.

She hesitated at the door, one gloved hand on the doorknob. It was a beautiful morning, and Levy was rarely inclined to stay cooped up inside when the weather was nice. Turning back, Lucy tried another approach. "You don't want me to bring you anything? We could have breakfast together here, if you want."

Levy looked apologetic, and something else Lucy couldn't quite place. "I'm not that hungry. Thank you, though."

Lucy said nothing to that, only nodded. With one last look at her friend, she slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. She felt a bit guilty, having been so caught up in her own affairs she hadn't paid enough attention to what went on with Levy – she'd just assumed she was dealing with it in her own way. She'd been oddly secretive since she'd confessed her new dilemma, but going by her current mood Lucy figured whatever she'd decided to do about it hadn't gone down very well. Not that Gajeel struck her as an easy man to confess to, or whatever Levy had ended up doing. Things had been very hectic lately with the whirlwind that was Fairy Tail, and the fact that her father hadn't so much as _attempted_ seeking her out was beginning to worry Lucy a great deal. She knew her old man, and he'd dictated her affairs for as long as she could remember. Why he was suddenly letting her do as she pleased..

Coming to the bottom of the carpeted stairwell, she was about to head into the common room when a dark shape suddenly pushed through the doorway in front of her, and she instantly recognized the head of dark hair and the scowl accompanying it.

"Oh, good morning, Gajeel–"

He didn't seem to _see_ her, stalking towards her with enough speed to knock her off her feet if she didn't get out of his way. With a yelp, she barely managed to jump aside, and stared in bewilderment as he all but kicked the back door open at the end of the corridor, as though he couldn't get outside fast enough. Before she could register what she was doing, she was running after him, pushing the door open just as it slammed closed, and peering out into the grey morning light as the dark shape retreated into the shadows of the Alleys with purposeful strides.

"Gajeel!" she called, but he didn't even flinch, only continued to stalk forward until he'd rounded the corner, leaving her gaping in the open doorway. "What in the world..." she mumbled, closing the door as she retreated back down the corridor towards the common room. First Levy, and now Gajeel was acting up as well? She cringed as she considered what could have happened between the two of them to cause such a reaction – it couldn't be a coincidence that it happened on the same day her best friend slipped into such a grummy mood.

Her curiosity was only further intensified when she came into the common room, only to be met with a bewildered Cana, a half-polished glass in her raised hand and a rag in the other. "Do you know what all that was about?" Lucy asked as she came up to the bar, gesturing in the direction of the door Gajeel had barged through.

The brunette shrugged, her brows pulling down into a frown. "Haven't a clue. Went to see the bossman, and came barrelling out in a rage. Ya'd think he'd gotten the slip, but the old man wouldn't do that," she said, shooting Lucy a look. "Unless dollface's told you anythin'." There was a hint of suspicious curiosity in her tone, and her cat-like eyes swept across Lucy's face.

She only shrugged. "She's been gloomy since she came in yesterday, and she wouldn't come downstairs with me. You think something happened?"

Shooting a look towards the door to Makarov's office, Cana hummed thoughtfully. "Can't say for sure. Might've, but it didn't seem that way when he came in earlier. Whatever the old man told 'im, he wasn't expecting it."

Lucy frowned, and was about to open her mouth when the sound of the back door opening reached their ears. Lucy shot Cana a sideways look. "You think that's him?"

Cana snorted. "Nah. Ain't like him to calm down so soon. He'll be gone hours yet," she said, never taking her eyes off the door. When it finally opened, her eyes widened, but instead of surprised, her expressive brows conveyed a wry sort of amusement as a shape materialised in the doorway. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," she greeted, and the man in the doorway grinned unabashedly, seemingly unperturbed by her attitude.

Lucy blinked as she took in the newcomer, dressed elegantly in a full suit and with a hat on his head that he tipped charmingly in greeting. "Silver tongue as sharp as ever, Cana," he said with a smile, but when he stopped in front of Lucy, his brows raised in shameless appreciation.

"Well, _hello_," he drawled, stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning against the bar. From the corner of her eye, Lucy caught Cana rolling her eyes.

"Um, hi?"

The man grinned wickedly, and Lucy found that despite the obvious leer, he was quite handsome; all lean build and a head of wild, honey-coloured hair. And he knew it, too, by the grin on his face. She recognized his exact brand of confidence from the countless suitors her father had sent her way since her début.

"I haven't seen you around. You new?" He took one of his hands out of his pockets to rest his elbow on the counter of the bar. He'd barely put his hand down when Cana slapped it sharply with her rag, and he pulled it away.

"Easy now, Casanova – she's protected. Makarov's got Natsu watchin' her."

The man hummed, recognition evident in his eyes. "Then you must be the lovely Lucy I've heard so much about," he said, turning back to her with another grin. "As a matter of fact, I've been handed an assignment quite similar to yours," he added.

Lucy blinked, her curiosity piqued. "Really?" Makarov was taking in someone else?

He nodded. "One Levy McGarden," he announced with a wink.

Cana stilled in her polishing. "What was that?"

He glanced at her. "I've received summons from the old man to escort the young lady. You've met her already, I've gathered? From what I heard, she's been here a week or so."

Cana looked at Lucy, confusion in her eyes. "Yeah. Gajeel's been keepin' an eye on her."

"Well, I guess he hasn't been doing his job very _well_ – the lady asked for someone else, hence my summons," he said with a shrug.

Lucy frowned, and promptly ignored Cana's inquiring gaze. It explained Levy's mood and Gajeel's dramatic exit, but as to why the decision had been made in the first place...

"Well, that'd be why Redfox was in such a damn mood," Cana echoed her thoughts, a deep frown on her face. Lucy said nothing, but glanced towards the doorway, wondering what Levy was hiding. Infuriating or not – _crush_ or no crush – there had to be a better reason for her to ask for another escort. And without consulting Gajeel. If that was what Makarov had told him, it certainly explained his anger.

"Anyway," the man interrupted her train of thought. "I believe I've yet to introduce myself," he said, eyes twinkling. "You may call me Loke, Miss Lucy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Taking her hand, he placed a swift kiss to her gloved knuckles, and she forced a smile in return, slightly uncomfortable but determined to be polite.

"A pleasure," she echoed, and Cana snorted under her breath, to which Loke's grin only widened, and before Lucy had a chance to react, there was an arm around her shoulders.

"You wouldn't happen to be free tonight?" he asked, clearly not bothered with any more pleasantries. "We could go to a picture – there's a new one just arrived. What do you say?"

Lucy was about to extract herself from the embrace when the snap of Cana's rag knocked his hat off his head, and he swivelled around with a hurt look. Cana looked unimpressed. "Haven't you just gotten a new _job_, cowboy? Get your damn priorities straight," she drawled, eyes glinting with something dangerous. "She's tryin' ta give ya an icy mitt, for cryin' out loud!"

Loke grinned as he bent to retrieve his hat, and Lucy took the chance to put some distance between them. "Always so sharp," he muttered, straightening and placing the hat on his head with an elaborate gesture. "Well then what about another night? Tomorrow? I'm sure the old man would let me have a night off–"

The screech of the front door opening cut him off mid-sentence, and saved Lucy the trouble of coming up with an excuse. Looking towards the doorway to the common room, she was relieved to see a head of bright pink as Natsu entered from outside. He stopped upon seeing them, clearly surprised, and then his face split into a wide grin. "Loke!" he called, ambling towards them with a vigour she had come to recognize him by. "How ya doin', man? I haven't seen you for months! You been called in for something?"

Loke smiled. "Natsu!" Clapping him on the shoulder, he shrugged. "Makarov had a job for me, so I caught the first train out last night."

Natsu grinned. "Job, huh? What kind?"

Loke shot Lucy a glance. "Bodyguard for a certain young McGarden. A lovely gal, no doubt, but I must say I envy you your own little assignment," he said with a significant smile, and Lucy felt her ears redden with a touch of indignation.

Natsu blinked, no doubt surprised at the news, but then his brows narrowed as the words settled. "Yeah?"

Loke winked. "She sure is a fine lady, don't you think? You're a lucky man, to be able to keep her all to yourself."

"_Really,_ now–!"

"She's not _mine_," Natsu cut her off, and Lucy's brows rose, genuinely taken aback by the unexpected anger in his tone. "She's not an object, and I ain't 'keepin'' her."

Loke looked surprised. "I didn't mean to offend," he said, but there was a twinkle in his eyes, as though he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Careful, Loke," Cana warned from behind the bar. "Ya know the women in this joint. I'd hate ta have Erza over ta teach ya a lesson. We're not yer dolls ta pick up and take out as ya please."

He winked at her. "You're not, at least, and that's not for lack of trying," he said, unperturbed by her sass. She glared, pointing a glass at him.

"I ain't no prize-fighter, cowboy, but I'll giva ya the bum's rush if I get more sass from you."

He grinned. "Shall we make it a date?"

Lucy cleared her throat. "As interesting as this is, _I'm_ a little interested in knowing how you got your job, Mr. Loke."

"Please, just 'Loke', baby."

"Oye now–" Natsu began, but was cut off. His happy greeting only moments before seemed forgotten, replaced with an irritation that thrummed in the air and that made Lucy both uncomfortable and strangely giddy, but her excitement was quickly drowned by the righteous indignation that flared within her whenever she was treated like someone's pet.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the obvious smooth-talk. _"Loke,_ then. Your job? Did Makarov give you any reason as to why he's given it to you?"

He shrugged. "Not yet. I'm to meet with him today for the debriefing," he said. Lucy turned her head to share a look with Natsu, and startled when she noticed he'd moved almost inappropriately close.

"Well, he's in now–" Cana's declaration was cut off at the opening of a door, and three heads swivelled to the doorway of Makarov's office, from which the man had just exited, as though he'd read their intentions. He looked troubled, and there was a heavy frown marring his brow, but upon the sight of them, his countenance brightened significantly.

"Ah, so many of you up so early?" he greeted them as he came towards the bar. He was dressed in one of his finer suits, and there was a briefcase in his hand. "And Loke, too. Welcome back," he greeted with a nod, a strange light in his eyes. Loke nodded his head politely.

"Boss."

"How are you doing, my boy? Was the journey alright?"

Loke smiled. "I've had worse. The train was bearable, although sorely lacking pretty ladies so late at night." He shrugged his shoulders solemnly. Makarov shook his head with fond exasperation.

"And you haven't changed."

"Not in the least," he agreed with a grin.

Makarov barked a laugh. "Ah, well. You've caught me at a bad time, I'm afraid. I promised you an early meeting, but one of my later appointments had to be moved up, so I'll be heading into the inner city. Why don't you stop by my office there this evening? Eight o'clock should be fine."

Loke nodded. "I'll be on time."

"At least there, no one can fault you," Makarov said with a wink, before turning to Lucy. "Have you spoken with Levy this morning?" he asked, and the concern in his eyes was palpable, and enough to convince Lucy that there was definitely more going on that what any of them were letting on.

She shrugged. "She's awake, but she's not feeling very well." It was as close to the truth as she could get, on what meagre words she'd gotten out of her friend earlier.

Makarov nodded, clearly unsurprised. "Ah. I figured as much. She was...not in the best of spirits, when she spoke to me last."

There was a chasm of unanswered questions there, but Lucy was loath to bring them up with all the people listening. Perhaps she could catch him later, and ask him then.

"Well," he said then, hoisting his briefcase a little higher. "It's time for me to get going. I'll be seeing you later, Loke. My dears." And then he was off, headed towards the front entrance that the rest of them rarely every used. No doubt his car would be parked outside, ready to take him into his official office. Juggling two jobs on different sides of the law and in two different parts of the city wasn't child's play, and Lucy would forever wonder how he was able to keep up with it all.

When he was safely out of earshot, Cana turned to her, accusation clear on her face. "You know something," she said. Lucy sighed, but didn't look at the brunette. Her eyes were firmly trained on the path Makarov had taken. The concern on his face was fresh in her mind.

"No," she said. "I really don't."

* * *

Placing the tray of food down on the small table in their room, Lucy pondered what to say. Propped up against the headboard of her bed, Levy sat curled up with a book in her lap. A new dress hung, unused on the dresser, and she hadn't even done her hair for the day. It was nearing evening already, but it seemed she had no intention of coming downstairs at all.

"Levy?"

Looking up from her book, the bluenette smiled. "Yes?"

Lucy frowned. "You sure you're fine?"

Her smile faltered, but she nodded her head. "Yeah, just peachy. Why?"

Lucy didn't believe her for a second, and wondered if calling her bluff was the right thing to do. Maybe she should just give her some time to gather her thoughts, and let her breach the subject herself? It was probably the best option, at present.

So she smiled. "Okay then, I was just wondering. You've been up here all day."

Levy shrugged. "I just wanted a day in, is all. I haven't gotten to read much lately, and I've missed it. I'm going down for dinner later, I think."

Lucy said nothing to that. "Alright, then. Well, I'm going out, and I'll probably be back late."

"Okay," she said with a small smile. "I'm not a light sleeper, so don't worry."

Lucy chewed on her bottom lip, wondering if she should tell her about the fight. Natsu had told her earlier when the news had come in; apparently, Gajeel was officially back in the ring, and up against one of the new talents of the city's biggest club – some fella named Rogue Cheney. It was supposed to be the fight of the year, and she was actually a little excited to go. A day ago, she would have though Levy would be, too, but after the day's events she wasn't even sure bringing the subject up at all was a good idea.

"So..." she said instead, awkwardly, hand resting over the doorknob. "I guess I'll see you later, then? If not, have a good night," she said with a smile.

"Enjoy your evening," Levy called back, eyes back on her book, and Lucy shook her head as she closed the door behind her. Sometimes, the girl was stubborn as a mule. She decided that if Levy didn't bring the subject up herself in the next two days, she was going to have a chat with her. Respecting her privacy was one thing, but Lucy was her closest friend and confidante, and she was not prepared to sit idly while the girl went though a difficult time, even if she was determined to keep her mouth shut about what it was that was bothering her.

When she came to the bottom of the stairs, Natsu was already waiting for her. She smiled when she noticed he'd changed out of his usual attire, and was wearing a nice pair of dark pants and what looked like a new shirt. He hadn't even rolled his sleeves up.

"Well, don't you look smart," she greeted with a grin, and he smiled sheepishly in return.

"Yeah, well...I thought I might," he said with a shrug. "You're, uh, nice, too, Luce."

She laughed. "Thanks, even though I had no idea what one wears to a boxing match," she said.

He shrugged. "Whatever is fine. If you're with the posh people, you'd probably wear something nicer, but you're with me tonight, yeah?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

His nervous grin widened to a full-blown smile. "You ready to go?"

"All done."

"Levy's not coming, huh?"

She shook her head. "I didn't tell her – figured it wouldn't do much good. You think I should have?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what's going on with 'em, but maybe not, if she's been up there all day?"

Lucy sighed. "I wonder what's going on with her," she murmured, throwing a glance towards the stairs. Natsu said nothing, and when she turned her gaze back to him there was an oddly serious look on his face. She blinked. "Something the matter?"

A grimace tugged at his features, and he scratched the back of his neck. "Ah, well. You know...Loke...what did'ya think of him?"

Her brows rose at the unexpected question. "Loke? Why do you ask?"

He seemed uncomfortable, and shrugged. "Dunno. Just wanted ta know."

A small smile tugged at her mouth, and she bit down on her lower lip to hide it. "What, afraid I'm gonna run off with another man?" she asked with a small laugh. He smiled, but it seemed oddly forced for a man to whom they always came naturally. Lucy shook her head. "Don't worry – I know men like that, and they're not my cup of tea."

His grimace vanished. "Yeah?"

She grinned. "Do I look like just any skirt? I've had enough men looking for a trophy knocking on my door to last me a lifetime, thank you. I want something else."

He tilted his head, curious. "Like what?"

She shrugged, a genuine smile on her face as she looked up at him. "Someone genuine, who'll want to be with me even when I'm old, and who won't take a mistress just because I don't look like I'm twenty anymore. Someone who'll let me write, and not tell me it's a foolish business for a woman."

He said nothing to that, and she held out her hand. "Someone like that," she said, and even if he gave off an air of naivete, even he couldn't miss the underlying suggestion.

He grinned, and took her hand with an eagerness that betrayed his upbringing, closing his fingers around hers tightly and giving her a yank, rather than tuck her fingers into the crook of his elbow, as was proper. But she didn't mind, not when he had that grin on his face. His hand was warm against hers, even through the fabric of her glove, and it was difficult to keep the smile off her face as he all but dragged her towards the back entrance with all the eager grace of a child. She almost tripped on the carpet, and laughed, a hand on her head to keep her hat from falling off, and his grin widened in return.

When they were out into the open air, his hand tightened in hers. "So you ready to see a real match?"

She threw him a wry smile. "Well, I'll need to see what all the fuss is about, won't I? And going by the rumours it's going to be pretty big."

"Big's an understatement," he said as they walked out of the alley. "It's the fight of the year!"

"So everyone says, but I haven't been to a regular one yet, so I've got nothing to compare it to."

Natsu shrugged. "Well, Gajeel was pretty popular when he first started, and the punk from Sabertooth," at this he grimaced, "is pretty good too. Least that's what Lily said."

She hummed. "There'll be a lot of people then? The theatre is pretty big. Do you think it'll be full?"

He looked at her then, as though contemplating something, and then he smiled, and his fingers tightened around hers. "Probably. So stay close, yeah? I'd hate to lose ya in the crowd."

She smirked. "Well, I could always just look for your hair, if I did get lost."

Instead of being offended, he only laughed. "Sure, and I'll just ask for the poshest looking gal in the room," he teased.

She squeezed his fingers. "Careful now; I'm supposed to be in hiding."

He threw her a sidelong look at that. "What d'ya think will happen if someone recognizes you?"

She shrugged, brows furrowing. "I don't know. Daddy must know where I am by now, but...I really don't know. Someone would try to take me back home, I suppose?" She didn't like the thought of it, though it had crossed her mind more than once in the past week. Truth was she didn't want to go back to her old life, ever, although why her father was stalling was beyond her.

Natsu tugged her closer, and a blush coloured her cheeks as she caught a gaggle of girls to their left pointing and giggles at their open display of affection. "Then he'll have to go through me," he said, with more confidence than what Lucy was feeling. Now that the subject had been brought up, the worry came crawling back, and she felt cold inside.

And looking up at him from under the brim of her hat, Lucy kept the words from tumbling off her tongue with sheer will alone.

_That's what I'm afraid of._

* * *

AN: I like Lucy and Natsu together; they've got that playful chemistry that I adore in ships. You're all entitled to think whatever you want about this, but complaints on the _pairing_ (and not the actual _writing of it_) that find their way into my inbox will be read aloud in my new, overly exaggerated British accent, accompanied with a glass of wine and a good, hearty evil-overlady laugh. Happy holidays!

**drugstore cowboy**: a well-dressed man who loiters in public areas trying to pick up women.

**grummy**: depressed.

**baby**: sweetheart.

**bum's rush**: eviction by force from an establishment.

**icy mitt**: rejection.


	21. close ranks

AN: The story moves forward, with the appearance of a few more characters, both old and new. Implied Jerza if you want to look at it that way. If you don't want to, then don't. Also, another thank you for the continued support, feedback and chortle-worthy commentary! It's the best thing, to find some gold in my inbox on a grummy day. My inspiration's purring like a happy cat (if that makes even the least of sense).

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXI**

"Ya don't have ta rub it in, ya know."

Across from him, Lily grinned, pausing to wipe his brow with his forearm. Gajeel grumbled as he leaned back in his chair, hissing softly as the stitches pulled but trying not to show his discomfort. Around him the familiar sounds of the Pit created a soothing cacophony, but incapacitated as he was, it only served to make him squirm. He was itching to get up and go a few rounds, but the wound was still healing, and Lily had threatened to chuck him out on his ass if he so much as thought about training.

"Don't even think about it."

Gajeel snorted, shifting in his seat. "Who says I was?"

Lily only gave him a look, before turning back to the punching bag. From his seat on the floor by the dais, Elfman smirked. "Can't fault a man for wanting to get back in the ring," he said. "Your fighting spirit is admirable, Gajeel!"

Gajeel rolled his eyes, and Lily snorted. "More like stubbornness," he muttered under his breath as he made another swipe at the bag.

"And stubbornness is a good trait in a prize-fighter, I think," a new voice spoke up, and all three heads swivelled to regard Erza as she dropped her bag by the floor. Lily smiled, bowing at the waist as he always did, and Gajeel settled for a good grumble.

"Erza – it's been a while," Lily said. She grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. Her long red hair was tied back at the nape of her head, but fell loosely down her back. Improper as hell, but then she'd never really given a damn. She was in a man's trousers and shirt, too, and her hands were already wrapped and ready. He could sense her eagerness from where he sat, and he cursed his thrice-damned wound to hell and back for his bloody bad luck.

"Gajeel," she greeted as she came closer. "How are you holding up?"

He raised a brow. "Peachy keen, Scarlet. The hell does it look like?"

She smirked. "You always were a bad patient, but I see you're keeping out of it. Wise move."

"Can't bloody do shit with all the damn women on my back," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. The hag was still sour as ever, and Cana had all but cast a kitten when she'd finally gotten her hands on him. Then Juvia had joined in, and given him the most disapproving glare he could ever remember getting, and if _that_ hadn't been enough, the blonde had sided with the two and given him a fucking lecture on _common sense_. It was ridiculous!

Shorty hadn't said anything, though, but then she'd had that tirade in the lockers, so he figured she's said what she could on the matter. Not that he'd had much of a chance to talk to her. They hadn't even had a moment alone to discuss where they stood – he didn't even know what to _assume_. And he couldn't seem to catch her alone, either. If it wasn't the damn flirt, it was those accessories of hers that had all but attached themselves to her hips, and neither of the two idiots seemed eager to let him have a word with her. So here he was, at the Pit, "sulking" as Lily had put it, because he couldn't get a blasted moment with his girl – _was_ she even his girl? They hadn't actually stated it clearly, but then he would have _asked,_ had he had the _chance_ – and because he had to sit on his ass like a bloody invalid.

"I can feel you brood from over here, you know," Lily spoke up then, and Gajeel glared at him.

"Dry up."

He grinned. "If it wasn't for the wound, I'd have recommended a round in the ring, but doctors orders, you know."

"I _know_."

"Don't provoke him, Lily. He'll pull his stitches and then Porlyusica will have all our heads," Fullbuster spoke from where he was lazily wrapping his hands.

Lily shrugged. "I know how to smooth-talk a lady. It'll be _your_ problem."

Gray gave him a look. "Exactly. And if I get a tooth knocked out today, I'm not gonna be turned away at her door."

"You think a tooth is going to be all you're missing after today?" Gajeel asked, throwing Erza a look out of the corner of his eye. She was busy warming up, but the smirk on her face was evidence that she'd heard the exchange.

Elfman grinned. "He's got spirit!"

"He's punch-drunk, is what he is," Gajeel muttered.

"Oye," Gray warned. "I'm not taking that from the idiot who accepted a match against the city's top rookie with a fresh gunshot-wound."

"Accepted, fought, and _won_, thanks."

"And nearly killed yourself doing it," Lily threw in.

"Haven't we been over this already?" Gajeel asked the room, but they didn't seem to hear him. Or didn't _want_ to; it had become a popular topic in Fairy Tail after the victory party, when the news of the fact that he'd been shot the day before had reached the rumour mill.

"You still haven't told us _why_ you accepted the fight," Fullbuster reminded him.

"None of yer business."

"And that doesn't make it sound suspicious? I think you're hiding something."

Gajeel sighed, wishing he was off somewhere else, or that _they_ were off somewhere else. "I think you should mind yer own beeswax, Fullbuster. I needed the dough, and since when has a gunshot-wound held me back? I've been shot before."

Gray raised a brow, pausing in his ministrations. "And you've fought matches right afterwards the other times, too, have you? I'm telling you, Redfox, there's something fishy about all of this."

"You're fishy."

"Brilliant comeback. Sure the Sabertooth punk didn't hit your head a little too hard?"

"Want to come over here and repeat that?"

"Gentlemen," Erza interrupted, stepping between them and cracking her knuckles. Gajeel smirked, and Gray returned it, nodding his head. A verbal spar was worth as much as a physical one in the Pit, and Gajeel really didn't have much against the fella, other than the fact that he reduced Juvia to a blushing idiot without even having the sense to realize it. He also had that annoying habit of misplacing all his damn clothes everywhere. He'd said it was because he'd been raised up north and had undergone some special training in order to learn to better resist the cold, but Gajeel figured it was just a cover-up to hide the fact that he was a pervert.

"You ready, Gray?" Erza brushed her hands against the fabric of her trousers, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Fullbuster leaped to his feet, cracking his knuckles.

"Ready to go when you are."

"Don't break anything on him – he's got a fight in two days," Lily warned, and Gray shot him a hurt look, as though he couldn't believe his own manager would doubt his abilities. Lily only raised a brow in return, and Erza shrugged, seemingly unperturbed.

"I'll go easy on him."

"Hey!"

Gajeel smirked. "Good luck, Fullbuster."

"Don't be cheeky, Redfox. I'm not the one with the bandage."

"Not yet," Gajeel quipped, to which Gray only glared.

Lily sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sometimes I wonder if any of you have grown at all these ten years. You're still bickering like boys."

"Boys compared to _someone_," Gajeel began, only to splutter when a towel hit him smack in the face. Grinning, he pulled it off, only to meet the unimpressed gaze of his friend. Although to be fair, Lily couldn't have hidden his smile if he tried.

"Brat."

"Old man."

"The old-jokes are getting old themselves," Lily drawled.

Gajeel shrugged. "Cut me some slack, I've gotta do something to entertain myself."

"You could always take up sewing."

"Har har _har_."

Lily grinned. "I'm serious. Next time, you could stitch your own wound shut."

Gajeel snorted. "And that's how you learned, is it?"

"It's not, and you know it. But it does come in handy. These clothes don't mend themselves, and I don't have a girl to do it for me," he said, and though he spoke the words with such ease, Gajeel could have spotted the slight crease to the corners of his mouth that betrayed his frown, and the statement fell like a heavy weight on the air.

Gajeel was silent, not quite knowing what to say. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't know it, what with you sewing like a woman, anyway," he said finally, almost gruffly.

A smile tugged on Lily's lips, pulling at one of the scars. "It's a gift," he said then, and the tension lifted a little.

Gajeel sighed, and leaned back in his chair. On the dais, Scarlet and Fullbuster were busy sparring, but he found he didn't really have the concentration to pay attention. He wasn't running a fever anymore, but it was damn warm in the gym, and the stitches were bothering him. Also, his thoughts were always drifting back to Levy, who was probably ankling about with the cake-eater at her heels. They'd already been gone when he'd shown up at the speakeasy, and he wasn't some jealous lover with no qualms about stalking them, and so he'd refused Juvia when she'd tried to get him to go with her. So he'd gone to the Pit in search of better company or some solitude, but had found the place buzzing with people. After his successful win, Sabertooth had been knocked quite effectively off their pedestal, and several of Lily's boys had been eager to repeat the success.

"Hey," Lily said, pulling him out of his thoughts, and when he looked up, his friend was looking at him with a worried frown. "You okay?"

Gajeel sighed. "Peachy."

Lily raised a brow, and then pulled up a chair, seating himself so he could watch the spar going on on the dais. Or at least pretend to. "Have you talked?" he asked then.

Gajeel shook his head, not needing to be told who Lily was referring to. "Not since the match."

Lily snorted. "From what I saw, there wasn't much talking going on..."

"Dry up, Lil."

He grinned. "Just pulling your leg. But seriously, man, it's been three days. What have you been up to? Thought you'd be at her heels after you found out about Leo."

Gajeel shrugged. "I ain't one of her damn accessories, and I won't tag along like one of those idiots, _especially_ not the flirt. 'Sides, he's more interested in the blonde. It ain't a challenge; he's just bein' an idiot."

Lily shook his head. "From where I'm standing, you shouldn't be pointing fingers," he said dryly.

"Hey, I ain't _that_ brand of fool, Lil. That's insulting."

"That may be, but you still haven't talked to her yer. Are you planning to?"

Gajeel sighed. "I'll talk to her when her bloody posse ain't in her goddamn shadow all the time."

Lily's mouth quirked into a smile. "You're a little irritated about that."

"'Course I'm irritated!" he snapped, shifting in his seat. "The hell am I supposed to do when they're attached to her hips, huh? I ain't discussing _that_ with them around."

"And by 'that' you mean the fact that you're all goofy about her."

"I ain't bloody said that."

Lily snorted. "No, but you nearly got yourself killed for her sake, _twice_, and if you try to tell me it was because of your damn job, I'll box your ears. It's simple, Gajeel."

"It ain't _simple_."

"Well if it isn't, you've only got yourself to blame. She's pretty smitten, and from what Lucy's told me, she's got more than a little crush on _you_."

Gajeel blinked. "You've been chattin' with the blonde?"

Lily shrugged. "Natsu's brought her by a few times, and I taught her to throw a punch. She's good company."

"She's a gossip, is more like it."

"And so am I, or have you forgotten?" Lily asked wryly, as he began the process of unwrapping his hands. Gajeel said nothing to that, only muttered to himself about 'privacy' and 'meddlers'. Lily grinned as he let the wrappings fall to the floor, flexing his fingers.

"I'll talk to her soon," Gajeel said.

"You better – I've got a wager on when you tie the knot!" Fullbuster called from across the room, and Gajeel brows furrowed in a glare.

"Quit yer eavesdroppin'!"

"Then keep your voice down!"

"I, too, have bet on this!" Scarlet added her two cents as she went in for another swing, to which Gray just barely dodged.

From his seat, Elfman nodded. "Sis has organised everything. The wager is on spring next year."

Gajeel shot him a look, not surprised in the least. "Should have known it was her doing," he muttered.

"Well, I did tell you you two were becoming a two-man show for the rest of us, didn't I?" Lily said, and Gajeel felt like smacking his head against the wall. There just wasn't any rest with these people. The only thing missing was for the rest of the damn speakeasy to come dropping by to remind him of his predicament and stick their noses into his personal life.

As though on bloody cue, the screech of the front doors cut through the room, and Lily's eyes shot to the doorway and the approaching voices, and he rose to his feet. Gajeel frowned, following his gaze. When he caught sight of the arrivals, he closed his eyes with a groan, suddenly wishing he was off somewhere else again. Somewhere far away.

Because the entirety of Fairy Tail would have been bearable compared to _these_ guys.

"What are you doing here?" Lily asked as they approached. The fella in the front Gajeel recognized from the match, and he sneered as he stopped in front of them, throwing a glance about the room. Flanked by Cheney and two other brats who loitered in the background, he regarded the room as though he'd just walked into a smelly junkyard.

"Beats me. Rogue wanted to come, but I don't see why. Not like there's anything special in this dump," he said, cold eyes meeting Gajeel's, who met him with a glare of his own.

"Sting," Cheney said as he walked up, the word tinged with a hint of warning. There was a fading bruise covering his right cheekbones and a row of small stitches across his brow, and the sight of them made Gajeel feel oddly smug. Stepping up beside the pale-haired man, he bowed at the waist like some proper fucking gentleman.

"Mr. Lily," he greeted. "Mr. Redfox."

Gajeel snorted. "Brat."

He smirked. "How are you holding up? I heard about the wound," he said.

"Yeah?" Gajeel asked, challenge clear in his tone. He'd thought the cheeky kid had found out about the wound during the match, and had gone for his midsection because of it.

But he couldn't find anything else than hard honesty in the sharp eyes regarding him under a fringe of dark hair. "If I'd known, I'd have had the match called off. I had no idea anyone would attempt something so reckless." He smiled. "Although it was an honour fighting you, and I admire your tenacity. Not just anyone can win a match with an injury like that."

Gajeel honestly didn't know how to respond to that, and couldn't quite tell whether or not he was joking, so he only shrugged awkwardly.

The white-haired fella snorted. "Don't go getting any ideas now. Yer still old news – ya just got lucky," he snapped.

"That's right," came a voice behind him, and Gajeel looked down to see one of the brats step forward and up beside the pale-haired punk – a young boy with a head of wild, red hair. Gajeel guessed he couldn't be more than fifteen at most. He raised a brow.

"Who the hell are you?"

The boy's brows furrowed. "Ain't none of your beeswax."

"This is Lector," Rogue said, even as the boy spluttered a protest. "And this is Miss Frosch," he introduced further, stepping back and allowing the last of their party to step forward. Gajeel remembered her from the match; the girl with eyes like Shorty.

"Frosch is pleased to meet you!" she greeted with a bright smile.

Sting grumbled. "Ya done now, Rogue?"

Rogue shook his head. "I'm on business for the Mistress."

"What?" Sting asked. "You didn't tell me that!"

He shrugged. "I'm telling you now. Mr. Lily – may I have a word?"

Lily raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. Gajeel knew he had little patience with Sabertooth from earlier skirmishes. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble. "What about?"

Rogue smiled. "Our Mistress wishes to make an arrangement. If you would hear me out?"

Lily shot Gajeel a look, but agreed, nodding his head towards the other side of the room before walking off. Silently, Rogue followed. When Gajeel turned back, Sting looked annoyed. "The hell," he muttered as he stared after his companion. The girl only smiled, brushing her gloved hands against her skirt.

"Miss Minerva will announce it later, if he agrees," she said, as a way of explanation.

"You know what it's about?" Sting asked.

She nodded, but said no more, and Sting scoffed. His gaze shifted back to Gajeel, and glared, as though he'd somehow personally insulted him by simply existing.

Gajeel snorted. "What are ya lookin' at, punk?"

"Just a piece of trash."

Gajeel growled. "Yer in the wrong place to say that, _brat,"_ he warned, as Elfman rose to his feet. At the dais, Fullbuster and Scarlet had paused in their spar, and were watching the exchange with wary eyes.

Knowing he was outmatched, Sting sneered. "We'll show you next time," he warned. "Like I said, ya got _lucky_."

"Looking forward to it," Gajeel threw back.

Elfman smirked. "It'll be glorious!"

Sting glared, clearly miffed by their attitude. Gajeel wouldn't even bother to tell him you couldn't drive the fighting spirit out of people from Fairy Tail if you tried; he'd learn soon enough if he kept on yapping. "You all think you're such big shots because your boss is who he is," he growled with a sneer. "He's just an old man, and when his reign ends, our Mistress will have this city in the palm of her hand. You just wait."

"If you think the old man's heading towards the grave already, you're gonna be disappointed. He's a stubborn old geezer," Fullbuster drawled.

Sting threw him a lazy glance. "So was old man Gemma," he said, and his words rang so hollow it almost gave Gajeel chills. Brows furrowing, he shifted in his seat. Something about that phrase didn't sit quite well with him, but he didn't bring it up. Sharing a look with Elfman, he kept quiet, and for a few moments no one said anything. From across the room, Gajeel caught the soft murmurs of Lily's conversation, but couldn't make out what it was about.

The screech of the front doors finally broke the silence, followed by the echo of a single pair of footsteps before the second pair of doors swung softly open. Gajeel threw his hands up. "What, did I miss the party invitation? When the hell did this turn into a bloody picnic?_"_

But the shape that had materialised and was now walking towards them was none of their own, and neither was it someone from Sabertooth. He frowned.

"Kagura!"

It was Scarlet who had spoken, and before anyone could say anything more, she'd slipped from under the ropes and dropped down from the dais. Striding towards the newcomer, there was a tense air about her, but a smile on her face regardless. "Long time no see."

"Erza," the newcomer greeted. Gajeel's brows were still furrowed as he regarded her. Dressed in men's clothing like the redhead before her, but with sleek dark hair falling about her shoulders, she looked just as out-of-place as Scarlet did. And like Scarlet, she didn't seem to give a damn.

"How have you been?"

"Fine. And you?"

There was an almost reluctant respect between them, tinged with just the barest hint of animosity from the newcomer, and what appeared to be guilt from the redhead. Gajeel couldn't even begin to fathom the connection, but then that was the case with pretty much everyone of his acquaintance.

"Swell," Erza said, although it sounded forced, before she turned to face Gajeel and Elfman. Gray had stepped down from the dais, and was coming towards them with wary steps. Gajeel knew it was proper to rise for the introduction of a lady, but he'd never been one for propriety, and going by her state of dress he figured she wasn't, either. So he remained where he was in his seat, shifting only so the chair was turned against the visitors rather than the dais. "This is Kagura Mikazuchi," she introduced her. "She's a prize-fighter for Mermaid Heel."

Gajeel raised a brow. "Mermaid Heel? The hell kind of sissy name is that?"

The dark haired woman threw him a scorching look, although when she spoke her voice was deadly calm. "A name fit for a woman club," she said, voice like steel. Gajeel snorted.

"_Woman_ club? Seriously?"

Erza crossed her arms over her chest, eyes sharpening. "And what, might I ask, is wrong with a woman club?"

He snorted. "Nothing, if they can fight, but when the hell did this start?"

"Our Mistress just relocated us, so we're new to the city, although I've been here before," Kagura said. She had a down-to-business air about her that reminded Gajeel of the hag, although she didn't seem to have Porlyusica's penchant for wanton violence at unexpected moments.

Erza smiled. "I'm looking forward to taking you on," she said with a bow of her head. "My best regards to Millianna when you see her."

Kagura nodded, and when she looked at Erza next her gaze was sharp was a knife. "He's been here lately." The way she spoke made it sound like an accusation.

Erza's expression didn't even twitch. "I wouldn't know."

"Yes, you would. Out of all people, _you_ would. And you do know. I saw the posters; I know he was at your speakeasy."

Gajeel caught the sight shift in Scarlet's stance, and his brows rose. She was on the defensive, although she hid it well. "I haven't seen him in over a year," she said. "His visits are few and far between, and most without the rest of us knowing. The poster must have been old."

Kagura didn't miss a beat. "You lie to protect him."

"Wouldn't you, for those close to your heart?"

She said nothing to that, only continued to regard the other woman closely, as though trying to see through her bluff. But Gajeel knew from experience that Erza Scarlet was a tough shell on the best of days, and after a few moments, Kagura appeared to give up. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded to the redhead. "Very well. It's not why I'm here, anyway. Is Mr. Lily around? I have a message from the Mistress."

Gajeel raised a brow. "What, _you,_ too? The hell's all this about?" The hell was everyone's business with Lily all of a sudden? He regarded the dark haired woman with close scrutiny, but she only shrugged.

"That is between my Mistress and Mr. Lily. I am simply here to deliver a message," she said, before turning her sharp eyes back on Erza. "Is he here?"

She nodded towards the back of the room. "He's busy at the moment. As you can see, you're not our first visitor."

She threw a look towards what remained of Cheney's posse, and frowned. "Sabertooth?" she asked.

Sting snorted. "And what's it to you?" he asked, but she only ignored him. Her brows dipped down even further, and she seemed to be thinking about something. Gajeel remained where he sat, but couldn't help but feel a twinge uneasy. First Sabertooth showed up to talk to Lily, and then a messenger from Mermaid Toe or whatever their bloody name was. It couldn't be a coincidence, but he wasn't about to voice his thoughts on _that_ with all the people listening. From beside him, he caught the suspicion on Fullbuster's face, and reckoned he wasn't the only one having caught on to the suspiciousness of it all.

They were saved any more awkward silence at the reappearance of Lily and the brat. Upon catching sight of the newcomer, Lily's brows rose in surprise. "Miss Kagura," he greeted with a bow, to which she returned the gesture.

"Mr. Lily," she said, more polite than she'd spoke to anyone else since entering, although she didn't even crack a smile. "I have a message from the Mistress."

"This reeks of bad business," Gajeel muttered under his breath. Kagura merely shared a look with the Cheney brat, who nodded. Then she walked past Lily towards the back of the gym.

"Some privacy, please," she said as she passed him.

Lily shifted his gaze to Gajeel, and shook his head, indicating that now was not the time for explanations, and then he walked after the strange woman, leaving Gajeel and the others alone with the Sabertooth punks. Silence fell over the gym, and the air was thick with tension.

Erza crossed her arms over her chest, brows dipping down into a frown. "I don't like the look of this."

Gajeel was inclined to agree.

* * *

It was late when the Pit was finally cleared of people, and Gajeel relished in the silence as he leaned against the doorway between the actual gym and the outer corridor. Lily was making the last rounds before closing up, and Gajeel wasn't about to let him leave without having a word. His friend hadn't said anything of the cryptic meetings in the hours that had followed, but he was having none of that.

"Well, that should be everything," he said as he came up, a bag slung over his shoulder and his gloves dangling from around his neck. Rolling his shoulders, he offered Gajeel a grin. "You didn't have to wait for me."

"Quit stalling, Lil, and spill the beans. I ain't puttin' up with any more crap."

Lily raised a brow. "Hey, now. I'm allowed to have my secrets."

Gajeel snorted. "Tell me it's got nothing to do with _my_ job, and I'll let it go. It's about him, isn't it?"

Lily sighed, shaking his head. "Like he wasn't already causing enough trouble," he said. "But yeah, it's about him. His behaviour isn't sitting well with the other clubs. Your victory was one thing – at least that was done without cheatin', like he usually does."

Gajeel frowned. "But?"

Lily sighed. "There's been talk of him taking over clubs now. Not just companies in the inner city, but prize-fighters too. I guess if he couldn't have monopoly of the moonshine business..." he trailed off.

Gajeel ran a hand over his face. Of course it was Ivan. He'd hoped it wasn't, but the look on Lily's face when the wench from Mermaid Ankle had left had spoken volumes. It was just so typical of the nutter, too. "Everyone needs a hobby," he muttered.

Lily looked none the pleased. "Well, _this_ hobby isn't a one-man show. Some of the clubs are getting uneasy after what happened to Twilight Ogre."

"Try telling _him_ that."

Lily glared, visibly angry for the first time in a long time that Gajeel could remember, disregarding when he'd caught him trying to hide his wound, of course. "I ain't gonna sit by and do nothing. He's already got the business world on a leash, but _this_ world is ours to run as we see fit, not his."

"And that's what they came to talk about? What, an alliance?"

Lily smirked. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Come off it, Lil."

"Alright, alright," he chuckled. "Hold your horses. Yes, they came to discuss the situation, and where we fit into it."

Gajeel raised a brow. "And?"

"And," Lily began, taking a deep breath. "We've come to an agreement."

"On?" There was a twinge of impatience in his tone.

Lily grinned, clearly amused. "On cooperating in order to get rid of his club, and to stop the monopoly he's going for. All within the boundaries of the law, of course."

Gajeel snorted, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Of course," he echoed, before raising a brow. "And you do realize I'm part of his little game, right?"

Lily grinned. "Of course I do. You're my insider," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "It won't be any more work for you than what you're already doing for Makarov, except I'm not interested in the business-related mumbo-jumbo. Although there'll be no sticking your neck out for me – I can take care of myself. I just need the occasional ammo. Can you do that?"

Gajeel ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not getting paid enough for this," he muttered.

"Hey," Lily said. "I let you train for free, and you're not even fighting for me."

"You forbid me from training, _Mother, _unless you've forgotten."

"But knowing your brand of stubbornness, you'll be back in the ring the minute the hag gives her permission. And _then_ I'll let you train for free."

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "Gee, how generous of ya."

"No need to thank me," he said with a wink. "Now, ya ready to get out of here? Mira said she was cooking tonight. And I'm bettin' you're eager to see your girl."

Gajeel pushed away from the wall, a smile tugging at his lips. "Aa," he said, not even bothering to argue about the term he'd used to describe her, before turning down the corridor. The sound of Lily locking the doors behind him reached his ears as he pushed through the front doors to the outside. It was well past dark already and the streets around the gym were empty save the occasional cry of a cat in the distance. Gajeel breathed in the fresh air, and waited for Lily to follow.

"Alright, it's all locked up. Let's g–" he stopped mid-sentence the moment Gajeel felt a presence from the shadows, but the soft footsteps that followed instantly calmed him, and he turned his head to regard Juvia as she emerged from the darkness.

"Ah, Miss Juvia," Lily greeted, visibly relaxing. "Out so late?"

She smiled, nodding her head. "Mr. Lily."

Gajeel frowned. Something felt wrong. It wasn't a danger lurking, but more of a heaviness to the air around them that thrummed along the edges of his nerves. A sweep of the woman in front of him confirmed his suspicions. Her shoulders were tense, and her brows were furrowed ever so slightly the way they did when there was something she couldn't quite figure out. She knew something, and was there to tell him.

And he didn't know whether or not he would like it.

"What's wrong?"

She turned her gaze on him. "Juvia has received summons."

Gajeel's frown deepened, and he shared a look with Lily. She wouldn't have put it like that if it was from the old man. "From who?"

She was quiet a moment, and when she spoke, there was a note of warning in her voice. Meeting his gaze, hers hardened noticeably.

"Jose."

* * *

AN: The plot thickens. I know there's no outright GaLe this chapter, but I'm building up to it (read: next chapter). Gotta let 'em suffer a little! After all, this story doesn't just run on romance; it needs a little more fuel of the scheming and dramatic kind, but I hope that's alright. Personally, I like a romance that doesn't rush into things, but hey, that's just me. I'm probably a bit biased, as I know how it's all going to end, *chortle*.

**punch-drunk**: brain damaged from boxing.

**cast a kitten**: throw a fit.

**to ankle**: to walk.

**goofy**: in love.


	22. propriety be damned

AN: Here it is – the first chapter for the new year! I apologize for the wait, but I had my final deadline for my uni-work yesterday, so the last two weeks have been pretty hectic. If I were to give an analogy, it'd be manoeuvring a ruined raft down a river of lava, whilst simultaneously defending myself from eagles attacking from above. Oh, and sharks. There's sharks there somewhere. But I'm back now, with weekly-esque updates. And on that note, an enormous thank-you for the feedback I've received for the last two chapters! It makes me so happy to see that there are a lot of people getting into the plot. And MORE THERE SHALL BE.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXII**

Things weren't going exactly as she'd planned.

"I don't think it's a good idea."

Levy sighed, closing her eyes as she fought the urge to scream obscenities at the men surrounding her. "Planned" turned out to be such a loose term. She hadn't actually sat down and made arrangements, but she'd told herself that, once the hassle surrounding the match had finally settled, she'd get Gajeel alone so they could talk. Because she wasn't going to kid herself – there was just a bit too many unanswered questions between them for it not to be a little awkward. However, _deciding_ to talk and actually getting to do it turned out to be two completely different things. And the same went for her current plans, which had been so remarkably simple and innocent, she couldn't fathom why they were giving her trouble.

"Jet, I'll be _fine_. I'll be gone for an hour, at most, and Loke will be with me."

Jet's glare didn't lessen, and she felt like tearing at her hair in frustration. If she'd thought her friend had been suspicious of Gajeel, it was nothing to the outright hostility he showed her new escort.

And of course Loke couldn't help but goad him.

"Relax, buddy. I've got my eye on her," he said, tone meant to be reassuring, but there was an intended double-meaning there, and with the distinct purr attached it had quite the opposite effect. And accompanied with the outright leer he gave her, Levy was surprised Jet didn't blow a gasket.

"Listen, _you–"_

"Oye!" Cana's voice cut through the room. "Take it outside if it's gonna be bloody. I just cleaned this joint!"

Loke grinned. "I wouldn't dream of dirtying your floors, baby vamp."

"Really, now? Then quit the smooth-talk, cowboy, or I'll be wipin' it with your mug next," she snapped.

"Cana," Mira said as she stepped up beside her. "Please keep the violence to a minimum."

"If he'll keep his trap shut," Cana growled.

"For you, baby, _never_," Loke purred, and Levy was two seconds away from slapping him herself, if only to get him to shut up. He wasn't exactly proving to Jet that he was a gentleman.

It really shouldn't have been that difficult. She wanted to go out and see the public library, because staying cooped up at the speakeasy was driving her out of her mind. She'd re-read all the books she'd brought with her, twice, and the general purposelessness of sitting inside was getting on her last nerves. It was _ridiculous_. With Gajeel, Jet and Droy hadn't complained half as much, although that was perhaps because the man had threatened to string them up by their ankles if they butted into his business and how he conducted his job. With Loke it was different. He wasn't particularly aggressive, but instead of threats he purposefully baited Jet, knowing what reaction he would get. It was horribly predictable, and not to mention annoying, as Jet never failed to rise to the bait.

She wondered if maybe _she_ would blow a gasket soon if they kept it up much longer.

"Loke," she snapped, voice cutting through the disagreeing voices around her. "We're never going to get out at this rate, so would you please stop taunting him? And _Jet_," here she turned a sharp eye on her friend, who started. "I'm a grown woman, for crying out loud! And I've got an escort for a _reason_ – so I don't have to stay cooped up inside. And the last time I checked, you didn't have say in what I do with my time, or _who_ I spend it with. So _please_." Grabbing her hat from the table, she put it on, before sweeping towards the doorway.

She didn't turn back as she strode towards the exit, shoulders squared and seething quietly. She heard Loke follow, and caught a snide remark from Cana followed by his easy laughter, but she didn't bother saying anything else. Not even waiting for him to open the door for her, she unlatched the lock and walked outside without preamble, silently revelling in her passive rebellious behaviour.

Well, rebellious for _her_, anyway.

The fresh morning air hit her nose, and she breathed in deeply as she began the easy walk towards the inner city. She could feel Loke step up beside her, and was thankful that, despite being an incurable flirt, he at least knew how to do his job. And he hadn't done anything improper, either. He was actually the perfect gentleman when he wasn't goading someone – sometimes she thought his behaviour was only partly due to his actual personality, and mostly due to the fact that he was putting on an act, either because it amused him or because people just expected it of him. Either way, it was complicating an already complicated situation.

There was a slight chill to the air, and she tugged her thin jacket closer around her. They were on their way out of the Alleys, and she realized she'd walked part of the way without even thinking about where she was going, where a week ago she'd have gotten lost at the first junction. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the thought, and she wondered idly what Gajeel would think about that.

The thought brought her mind back to the man in question, and her steadily improving mood dropped a little. He was usually at the speakeasy before she was even up, but this morning he'd been nowhere to be seen, and no matter who she'd asked, she'd gotten the same answer. Well, _that,_ and a few other things. Cana had given her a suggestive grin and a wink that had made her blush all the way down to her toes, and Lucy had been all jokes on her expense. Even Makarov had joined in, smiling in that eerie way of his that told her he knew more than he let on. But despite their quite obvious amusement, none of them had been able to tell her where Gajeel was.

"Are you alright, Miss Levy?"

"Hmm?"

Turning to look at Loke, she felt some of her irritation dissipate at the concern on his face. Putting on a smile, she shrugged her shoulders. "I've got a few things on my mind, is all."

He raised a brow, but his smile was playful. "And am I right in guessing it has something to do with a certain recluse that failed to show up this morning?"

She shook her head, wondering how she'd gone from a life of such propriety to one where men outright asked about her affairs. Usually, the ritualistic dance of high society only allowed for small-talk within certain subjects, and then only light ones. And not under any circumstances did anyone openly bring up their private lives. She'd come to learn quickly in Fairy Tail that "private" didn't hold even half the meaning it did in her old life. Everyone seemed to know everything about each other, and no one seemed to care.

Well, _she_ cared. Or she had cared. She wasn't so sure anymore, although she wasn't overly keen on having her romantic affairs up for debate, either. She'd heard talk of a betting pool, but she didn't even _want_ to go there, in fear of what she'd discover.

"I hope you don't find me too forward," Loke said then, after a prolonged silence.

She smiled a little, although it felt forced, even to her. "Not enough to offend," she said simply. Loke grinned.

"Good. I would also like you to know I have no intention of making light of my job." He sounded oddly serious when he said it.

"Cana does make you sound like a right rascal," she mused.

Loke grinned. "Ah, _Cana_. Yes, she's been blackening my name since we met. Nothing new there."

"Sounds like there's history there," Levy said, and was momentarily surprised at her own forwardness.

Loke laughed, seemingly unperturbed. He had, after all, been rather open with her to begin with. With a dramatic sigh, he waved his arm. "Unfortunately, she's not so easily impressed. And her father would have me publicly eviscerated if he so much as suspected there was anything going on. No, Cana's a doll, but it'll take a tougher man than me to sweep her off her feet."

She shook her head a little, turning his words over in her head. She'd met Cana's father on a few occasions, but he'd always struck her as such a kind-hearted person. A bit too rough for the refined people of her father's circles, perhaps, but now that she knew what he was really up to, it made more sense than his ruse as a stiff businessman. She'd known he'd worked outside the city, and as Gajeel had said that Makarov had ties to cities all over Fiore, she figured he was part of the reason.

"Your friend is quite a sight, though, isn't she? Miss Lucy, that is."

She hid a smile. "I'm starting to think Cana might have a point."

He laughed at that. "Ah, but if a man can't appreciate the beauty around him, what world would this be to live in?"

She didn't quite roll her eyes, but was tempted to. "Be careful with that," she warned, thoughts going to her friend. "She's had enough suitors after her looks to last her a lifetime, I think."

Loke frowned, looking genuinely concerned. "I don't mean to offend."

"I know, but you should probably tell _her_ that."

"_Natsu_ would take offence, I think."

_That_ made her smile. "Oh? Why do you say that?" Was there something Lucy wasn't telling her?

Loke shrugged. "Nothing much. Got an...unexpected reaction, the other day." He shot her a look. "How does she feel about that, then? I'd imagine a lady of her character..." he trailed off, but she caught his meaning.

She looked at him closely for a moment, then at the road ahead of them. Lucy had said Natsu taught her to throw a punch, and the first time they'd met, she'd borrowed his clothes. Levy smiled, glancing up at her escort. "He doesn't tell her she's pretty," she said, finally.

His brows rose at that, before a smile tugged at his lips, and she could tell he understood. "No. He wouldn't, would he?" he mused, almost to himself.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they walked, until they came to the city library. She'd been there on many occasions, and even though she'd had her own personal library in her old home, she'd always preferred the dusty halls and the towering shelves of Magnolia's public one. She almost ran up the stairs, happy to have something solid and _familiar_ after so many days of hectic events. She'd seen how at ease Gajeel was in the Pit, and found that she knew the feeling. In her currently turbulent life, the winding corridors of the library offered a sanctuary for her to properly relax. Within those walls there was no mob, and no Ivan Dreyar or Alexei. There were only the books, and as she stepped inside the grand double-doors, the hushed silence enveloped her like the arms of an old friend.

Once Loke caught up with her, having lost her amongst the shelves when she'd all but left him behind, she already had a small pile of books in her arms. He raised a brow at the sight. "When you said you'd be gone an hour..."

Levy only grinned.

* * *

Morning had turned into afternoon before either of them knew it, and evening was steadily approaching by the time Loke finally brought her back.

Jet was understandably fidgety, but Levy had had a nice time and wasn't about to ruin her good day out by starting an argument. So she cut across the room straight to the bar when Cana waved her over. It was one of the few nights of the week they kept the place closed, but there were still a few people scattered about. Makarov's own people, of course. Some Levy had gotten to know, and some that had only stopped by occasionally during her stay that she remembered the faces of but not the names. One particularly intriguing character was the blonde man always sitting at the same table at the back, accompanied by an odd-looking fella with long hair, another with a constant grin on his face and a woman who looked for all the world like she owned the place. Levy had seen Gajeel have a chat with the blonde man on occasion, but so far she hadn't been introduced. It might have been her imagination, too, but sometimes it had seemed like he'd purposefully avoided bringing her over. And she wasn't quite so rid of her old ways that she'd walk over and introduce _herself_ either, so she guessed she'd just have to be kept in the dark for the moment.

"Hiya, dollface. Something to drink?"

"Something light, please."

"Comin' right up."

Turning on her seat beside her, Lucy tipped her own glass. "You've been gone awhile."

She shrugged. "The library is quite extensive."

Lucy smiled. "You look like you had fun, though."

"I did," Levy said, returning the smile as she accepted the glass Cana pushed towards her. Wiping her hands on a rag, the brunette threw her a sidelong look.

"So how's it going with the cake-eater?" she asked without even lowering her tone. From across the room, Levy caught Loke's smug wave, and Cana made something that looked like a rude gesture in return.

"It's going well," Levy said with a shrug, throwing a glance towards her current escort. "He's doing a good job."

Cana looked dubious. "He ain't hittin' on ya?"

"Cana..."

"What?" she asked, raising her hands. "He's _that_ kind of guy, and I for one know Redfox won't be happy to know if he did. I'm just lookin' out fer ya, hon." For some reason, Levy wondered if she wasn't actually looking out for Gajeel, but didn't mention it. Cana looked to be in a bit of a temper, and she wouldn't have taken well to that suggestion even if she'd been completely zozzled.

So instead Levy only smiled. "I can take care of myself when it comes to _that_, Cana."

Cana looked sceptical, but didn't comment further, and Levy wondered just how much she knew of what had happened between her and Gajeel. She hadn't been present for any of it, although when she thought about it, Jet and Droy did spend a good deal of time at the speakeasy. Enough to let a few things slip, if Jet was irritated enough. And Cana knew the right buttons to push...

"Thoughts on yer tall, dark and handsome?" the brunette interrupted then, startling Levy out of her musings.

"Wha–no, I wasn't thinking about...him," she said, and realized just a little too late that she hadn't refused Cana's indication that he was _hers_. She felt her cheeks warm as the grin on Cana's face widened.

"My, my," she mused. "And a few days ago you were such down in the dumps about it. Nice turnaround, doll. Shame he ain't here to see it."

That had her attention. "Has he been in today?"

Cana's grin turned sly. "Well, look who perked up." Levy shot her an indignant look, and Cana laughed. _"_Don't get in a lather, doll – I'm just teasin'. Nah, I haven't seen 'im all day. Why?"

She frowned. "He hasn't been in at all?"

From beside her, Lucy shook her head. "Not as far as I know, and I've been here all day." Her brows dipped down as a though seemed to occur to her. "You don't think something's happened?"

Levy didn't want to think about any such thing, but now that the thought was there, it was hard to ignore. She had a few ideas of what _could_ have gone wrong, if that was indeed the case, and none of the scenarios were particularly pleasant. "I sure hope not," she murmured.

And that was all she could do, really. She knew now the risk he took every day for the sake of his two jobs, and she'd seen what the people he worked with – and worked _for_ – were capable of. And with the wound still healing...

"I'm sure he's fine. He's probably with Lily," Lucy said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Cana made a dismissive noise at the back of her throat. "Lil just came in," she drawled, motioning towards the entrance where the man's large frame was obscuring the doorway. Catching sight of them, he waved, a pleasant grin on his face, but Levy's heart sank as she saw he was alone.

"Ladies," he greeted as he came towards the bar, tipping his sixpence.

Cana smirked. "Hey, baby grand. Here for Mira's cookin'?"

His smile was bashful. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. Do you know when she'll have it done?"

Cana shrugged. "Might be a little while – we had some trouble with the old man's barrel house earlier, so she's just started on it. But you'll do well to get in line early – there's a lot of folks here tonight, and it's not every day she cooks."

Lily grinned as he took a seat at the bar. "Well, then I'm just in time."

"Lily," Levy said, catching his attention.

"Ah, Levy. Good to see you. How are things?" The question was laden, and she didn't miss the way he glanced towards the other side of the room, where Loke was busy chatting up a shy-looking lady with curly pink hair.

"Fine," she said, waving him off. "Have you seen Gajeel today?"

There was a glint of humour in his dark eyes, and she felt like asking the ground to swallow her up. Of course, she should have expected no less. From what Cana had told her, Lily was as bad a gossip as Mira.

He grinned. "Don't give me that look – I'm just teasing you. And as a matter of fact, I have seen him. I just came from the Pit."

Levy smiled, but it fell just as quickly as it had appeared. Wait a minute...

"What was he doing at the Pit?"

Lily looked like he was attempting not to smile. "Sulking, but don't tell him I said that."

She frowned, wondering what he was sulking about. "Do you know if he's planned on coming in tonight?" she asked then, casting another glance towards the doorway, almost expecting to see him come brushing through it with that arrogant gait.

His smile turned into something she couldn't quite read. "I don't know about that. Juvia had some news for him – it didn't look good. He might be caught up in some business for a while."

She frowned, mind jumping to a million different possibilities, most of them involving the mob, and all of them bad. "Juvia did?" If she remembered correctly, Juvia was Makarov ears in the circles of the local mob, due to her previous connections with the man whose name she couldn't quite remember. Something foreign. Either way, if it had anything to do with _that_, it was more than a little worrying, considering the fact that the last time they'd gotten in touch, Gajeel had ended up with a bullet in his gut.

"Can't say what it is, I'm afraid, but I'm sure he'll show up soon." Even though he spoke the words so casually, Levy caught the quick flash of concern in his eyes. Whatever it was Juvia had told Gajeel, it wasn't good, and if _Lily_ was worried...

"I'm sure he's fine," Lucy said then, nudging her gently with a smile. "He's got a way of getting out of fixes, doesn't he?"

Lily smirked. "Aa."

Levy gripped her drink, and took a large sip, feeling the sting of the alcohol as it slipped down her throat. She didn't think she'd ever get used to the taste, but right now it felt strangely good. With so many unanswered questions and secrets lurking around every corner, plots and counter-plots and enough drama to kill a person, wrapping her mind around it all made her exhausted just thinking about it. And for a moment she felt like she had on her first day at the speakeasy – confronted with so much she didn't know or understand that it had completely pulled the rug out from beneath her.

"Levy? You okay?"

Inhaling through her nose, Levy attempted a smile, although from their looks on their faces, neither of them seemed to be buying it. "I just...I think I'll head to bed," she said, before excusing herself. "Will you tell Loke I've gone up?"

Lucy nodded, although her brows were furrowed in obvious concern. She didn't press the matter, though, and for that Levy was grateful.

Saying goodnight to Lily, she made her way towards the stairs. She had a bit of a headache, and she actually _did_ feel like retiring early, when it came down to it. If Gajeel wasn't going to come in, staying up to see if she could try to talk to him seemed a fruitless affair. Trudging her way up the carpeted staircase, Levy felt exhaustion tug her shoulders down, and she yawned into her hand. It wasn't very late, even for her standards, and though she'd contemplated reading herself to sleep, she didn't even get so far as to grab a book as she made straight for her bed across the room, barely remembering to kick off her shoes as she went.

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

She was woken by a hand shaking her shoulder.

"_Levy_."

"Hmmwhat?"

"Hey. Wake up."

Blinking her eyes, Levy tried to focus on the dark shape hovering above her, and for a moment she was at a loss of where she was. The soft hand on her shoulder nudged her playfully. "Sorry to be waking you from any _pleasant_ dreams," the voice said, tinted heavily with amusement. "But I've got something for you."

Rubbing at her eyes, Levy sat up in bed, noting with a frown that where Lucy was dressed for bed, _she_ was still in her day-clothes. Her friend quirked a smile. "You must have been really tired."

Brushing a hand through her hair, fingers snagging painfully in the mess it had turned into, Levy hissed a little. Her sleep-muddled mind was catching up slowly, and it was only after another good scrub at her eyes that she noticed the slip of paper Lucy was holding between two fingers.

"Whatsat?" she mumbled, brows dipping down softly.

Her friend's grin was decidedly wicked. "A note for you."

Reaching for it, Levy's frown deepened as she unfolded it. "From who?"

Lucy didn't say anything, only sat back on the bed with a smug smile as Levy's face lit up.

_Downstairs._

Whatever cobwebs clinging to her mind evaporated in a second as she took in the rough scrawl that couldn't belong to anyone else, and she all but bounced off the mattress as she made for the doorway without another word. Not even bothering to pull on her shoes, she made a quick glance in the mirror to see if she looked presentable. Although she probably shouldn't have, because her hair looked even worse than it had felt, and her clothes were all askew. Not to mention there were markings on her cheek from where her face had been pressed into her pillow. She grimaced at the sight. She looked a right cat's pyjamas, didn't she?

"You really think he'd care if you brushed your hair or not?" Lucy asked from the bed, and Levy threw her an indignant look, although she couldn't really be angry. Glancing at the note again, she looked towards her friend.

"It was slid under the door a few minutes ago."

She grinned, and turned towards the door when her friend's voice stopped her in her tracks. "You know, some would find this horribly inappropriate. Meeting a man, _alone_, in the middle of the night. And without shoes."

Levy threw her a look, knowing she was jesting by the teasing tone and the look on her face. "You'll tell on me?"

Lucy bit her lip. "Me? Wouldn't dream of it_."_

"Yes you would," Levy countered with a knowing smile. "I don't know who'll be happier – Mira or Lily," she muttered, placing her hand on the doorknob. Excitement leaped in her chest at the prospect of what she was about to do. It was strangely thrilling, for someone who'd been as sheltered as she had. Most people in Fairy Tail probably wouldn't bat an eyelash, but for her, rendezvousing with a man in the middle of the night in an illegal drinking joint wasn't something she had a habit of doing.

"Levy."

Glancing back over her shoulder, she met Lucy's eyes, now furrowed a little. "Be careful, yeah?"

She smiled. "I will." Opening the door, she slipped out as quietly as she could, knowing Erza owned a room further down the corridor and that regardless of the redhead's profession, surrounded by men every single day, she was adamant in her 'no men in the women's corridor after dark'-rule. But though her excitement was hard to contain, Levy made her way downstairs without causing a stir. Without shoes, she didn't make a sound as she stepped past the doors lining the hallway. When she was finally at the bottom of the steps, she inhaled deeply, before pushing through the door to the common room.

Being the middle of the night, the place was dark and deserted, save for the old kerosene lamp burning at the end of the bar that threw an odd shadow against the wall and the shape seated on one of the stools. Upon her entry, Gajeel's head turned towards her, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. A glass of something dark was sitting at his elbow – scotch no doubt, if she remembered correctly.

"Hey," she said, taking a tentative step inside, suddenly nervous.

He didn't say anything, but nudged the chair next to him, and she took the invitation without further question. His eyes didn't leave hers as she walked towards him, and she felt a smile tug at her lips. "You know, you could have waited until morning," she said, tone teasing despite the fact that her heart was thrumming loudly against her ribcage.

He snorted. "With yer lapdogs at yer heels?"

"Point taken," she said as she took a seat. "Although you haven't been easy get hold of." There was a question there, and she wondered if he'd answer it. Since he wasn't her escort anymore, she didn't really have a right to ask what he did with his time, even if it involved Juvia and some shady business that had even Lily on edge.

He smirked. "Met Lily, did ya?"

"I might have."

He sighed. "Something's come up," he said then.

She frowned. "Something bad?"

He looked at her over the rim of his glass with a shrug. "Too early to tell. Could be."

"You'll tell me if it's anything dangerous?"

He smirked at that. "Worried about me, Shorty?"

"Depends on what it is you're trying to keep under wraps," she said simply. "Should I be worried?"

For a moment the look on his face was the same dark expression she remembered from whenever he spoke about Ivan. "Jose's stickin' his nose into things," he said. "Juvia got a summons for the both of us."

Levy's brow furrowed at the name. "Jose?" Wasn't that...

"Yeah."

Worry crawled in her belly, and his smirk was wry. "Worried _now_?"

"A little, yeah, considering what happened last time he was involved."

He waved it off. "That was one of his lapdogs lookin' to rise in the ranks," he snorted, before muttering under his breath, "Fucker."

She wondered if the wound was still smarting, but didn't press the matter. He was too stubborn a man to tell her if it was, anyway. "So you're going?" she asked instead.

He nodded, but looked grim. "Could be important."

"You'll be careful?"

He glanced over at her, expression decidedly amused. His affirmation was silent, but she caught it, and some of the tension left her shoulders, although the clipped conversation was putting her on edge. She'd wanted to talk to dissolve any awkwardness between them, not make it worse.

His gaze swept across her then, and she blushed at the look in his eyes. He raised a brow when they landed on her stocking-clad feet. "What, no shoes?" he teased.

She tried to look indignant, remembering the episode in the alley that had started everything. "Didn't think I'd be needing them."

He grinned. "What? Not plannin' on storming out this time?"

She met his gaze squarely. "No," she said, simply. And it _was_ simple. She wasn't running anymore.

"Made up yer mind, then."

She smiled at that. "You gave me a pretty good incentive," she said.

His grin was devilish. "Got a thing for prize-fighters, Shorty? Never would have thought."

She rolled her eyes. "I was thinking more along the lines of you not selling me out to your boss, but if you want to look at it that way..."

There was an odd look on his face, before it vanished. He lifted the drink to his lips. "Was hella tempted," he said then, voice a low rumble, before tipping the glass.

She cocked her head to the side, regarding him closely. "You could have done it, if you'd wanted to." She hadn't deserved anything less, after she'd dismissed him without even having the decency to tell him to his face.

He gave her a long look, before averting his gaze to the wall behind the bar, putting the glass down. "Nah," he said, finally, and even if it was just a simple declaration, it still spoke volumes of his thoughts behind the choice.

She smiled softly, oddly touched. "Thank you," she said then, and before her courage left her, reached out a hand to place it over his where it rested on the bartop. The contrast leaped back at her – hers small and soft and his scarred and rough. "I don't think I said it after the match. I was a bit too busy being angry at you," she said with a sheepish smile. "But...thank you, Gajeel, for protecting me, even if it wasn't your job."

"Still ain't," he reminded her, bringing up the subject they'd been dancing around since the match, without actually saying it out loud. But then, that was him, wasn't it?

"If it helps," she said, knowing she was going to be the one doing the talking but not really minding. "You were never just a bodyguard. At least, you haven't been...for a while."

He said nothing to that, turning his gaze to her hand where it still rested over his, as though studying them. Instead of pulling it back, however, Levy only tightened her grip. "I hope you aren't too glad to be rid of me," she teased, although she couldn't quite stop the nervous question that attached itself to the end of what she'd intended to be a joke.

He raised a brow, gaze meeting hers. "Want me back already, huh?"

"Don't let it go to your head now."

He grinned, before his expression suddenly turned serious. "Cake-eater treatin' ya well?"

She couldn't quite hide the smile. "He is. And before you ask, he's been the perfect gentleman."

He snorted. "Hard to believe."

"Well, you better believe it."

"Well, I ain't no gentleman. Sure ya want me back after this?"

"Yes."

She didn't even hesitate a second, and his brows shot up in obvious surprise, but she didn't blush or back down. He looked at her closely for a moment, as though gauging whether or not she was serious.

She inhaled through her nose, wondering what to say to convince him. She knew his trust didn't come easy, and she'd broken it once, and considering their history and his prejudice towards "her kind of people", Levy realized just stating it might not be enough. She was about to open her mouth to explain herself further when his hand suddenly slid out from beneath hers, reaching out before she had a chance to react and hooking under her jaw before pulling her towards him in one fell swoop. She yelped in surprise, but it was muffled sharply when his mouth caught her own.

He didn't kiss like gentlemen did in novels, she realized – even the racy ones she'd used to keep under her bed. Then again, he'd claimed he wasn't a gentleman, so she shouldn't have been surprised. What had happened in the lockers had been indication enough, and even if he wasn't reeling from adrenaline this time, there wasn't any less fervour in his actions. The hand holding her chin slid along her jaw to grasp the back of her neck, tangling roughly and snagging in her hair. She wavered a bit in her seat, reaching up to grasp his forearm to keep herself upright. He'd rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, and his skin was warm against her palms. She could feel jagged lines of what had to be scars under her fingers, and was momentarily distracted by the sensation.

"Turf war," he rumbled against her mouth. "Got lacerated."

Curious by nature, she'd almost been about to ask how one goes about being _lacerated_ when he tugged her forward far enough to make her slide off her chair, but once her feet hit the floor he'd slid off his own chair to make up for the difference. She stumbled against him, and his free arm slid around her lower back, tugging her closer. She sighed against his mouth, hands grasping at his shirt as she strained her neck, before remembering what had happened the last time she'd let her hands wander. She pulled them away sharply, muttering an apology against his lips. Pulling away far enough to allow her a chance to catch her breath, he rested his forehead against hers in something that struck her as an oddly...affectionate gesture, for a man like him. She almost didn't dare breathe, lest it should make him pull away completely.

"So..." she began, lamely, because she wasn't sure what one did after kissing men in illegal drinking joints in the middle of the night.

He grinned. "Uncomfortable, Shorty?"

She placed her hands against his chest, tentatively, and a small smile tugged at her lips. "Not anymore," she said, almost sheepishly. "I didn't really know where I had you...so...uh..."

He snorted. "Cause I was bein' so _vague_ after the match," he drawled.

"Well, excuse me! I don't know the protocol for kissing in locker rooms," she quipped, hands fidgeting. "We...haven't really talked about _that_, either," she said.

He snorted. "And whose fault was that?"

"You could have given Jet a good glare and he'd have left us alone," she pointed out.

"And Casanova?"

"Has an eye for Lucy, however futile that chase is."

He looked strangely miffed, and she smiled at the sigh. "Well, I'm here _now,"_ he grumbled.

She grinned. "So you are." She took a deep breath. "And...do you know where you'll be...after this? When Porlyusica declares you fit for duty?"

He gave her a sharp look. "Ain't much of a duty anymore."

There was so much meaning in those four words that it nearly took the breath from her. "Yeah?"

He only smirked, and this time it was she who tugged him closer, nudging her nose against his as she placed a tentative kiss to his mouth.

"Sure this ain't too improper fer ya?" he muttered against her mouth, tone teasing.

She laughed. "I don't even know what's _proper_ in this world anymore," she said as she kissed his cheek. "So I think I'll just do as I please."

His laughter was a rumble deep in his chest, and her heart jumped at the sound. "The hell happened to yer posh attitude?" he asked with a raised brow.

Her answering smile was wry. "Must have lost it around the time you stopped being such a prejudiced ass," she countered.

Gajeel grinned. "Better watch yer tongue, shrimp," he muttered. "I'm starting ta like it."

She bit the inside of her cheek, unable to help herself. "Sure you can handle my tongue?"

He guffawed, visibly surprised by the reminder, and her grin widened. "You should know that it's due to _your_ influence," she said, poking his chest. "I had manners once, you know."

He grinned, nudging her forehead. "Let 'em rot wherever ya left 'em."

"You're saying that as though I won't need them anymore," she said, looking up at him with a smile.

He raised a brow. "You plannin' on going somewhere?"

It was a laden question, even if he'd never admit it, and she grinned. "No."

"Good," the words were almost growled, and his grip around her tightened ever so slightly. She placed her forehead against his chest, inhaling deeply. The common room was silent around them, and all she could hear was the steady beat of his heart where she rested her head. His arms were comfortably warm, and the lull that followed was punctuated by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

She'd dozed off when his rumbled laughter pulled her back. "Comfortable?" his voice reached her ears, tinged with amusement.

She blinked, shaking her head. "What?"

He said nothing to that, but his arms loosened a little, and he pulled back to give her a look. "You should get back ta bed soon, or I'll have ta carry ya upstairs." He grinned. "Scarlet won't be happy," he added, although he sounded like he was more than willing to test his theory.

Levy raised a brow. "And whose fault is it that I'm so tired? I distinctly remember that it was _you_ who called on me in middle of the night."

He snorted. "I ain't _called_ on anyone. Do I look like a woman to you?"

She rolled her eyes. She'd forgotten that he hated being compared to the men from high society. "Whatever you'll call it, then. The point is, _you_ woke me."

"Didn't hear any beef from you," he rumbled, and she blushed at the implication.

"Rag-a-muffin," she murmured.

He grinned. "Fat cat."

"Hoodlum."

"_Vamp_."

"Hey!"

He grinned, and she nudged him playfully. "I'll have you know I was perfectly respectable before I met _you_."

"Glad ta hear that's changed," he drawled, and she felt heat spread all the way down to her toes at the sound.

"Yeah, well..." she trailed off, swallowing heavily.

He laughed. "Go to bed, Shorty."

"I would, if you would stop _teasing_ me."

He grinned. "Gotta get used to that if yer gonna be my girl."

Her breath caught in her throat, surprised he'd actually said it out loud rather than just imply it. "Yeah?"

He nudged her towards the stairs with a growl. "Yeah, now get yer posh ass upstairs before I do somethin' that'll have Scarlet blushin' the colour of her hair."

The warning made her shiver, and she smiled, but it came out more shy than seductive, and she blushed at her pathetic attempt. He didn't seem to have noticed, though.

She'd taken two steps towards the stairs when she changed her mind, and turned, catching him off guard as she reached for his face, pulling him down and placing a chaste kiss against his mouth. "Goodnight, Gajeel," she said, just like she had that night outside her bedroom. But instead of carrying the weight of a rejection, it felt more like a promise.

His lips quirked into a smirk, and she returned it with one of her own as she turned to make for the stairs, feeling a little like she was walking on air. Casting a glance over her shoulder before she left the room, she found him watching her.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" she asked then.

He smirked. "Aa."

She grinned, mimicking his words from earlier. "Good."

He shook his head. "Go to bed, Shorty."

She laughed as she left the room, and the smile stayed on her face all the way up the stairs and down the corridor to her bedroom. When she entered, Lucy was sitting on her bed, combing her hair. She looked tired, but going by the light burning in the corner, she looked like she'd been planning on waiting for a while. Looking up as Levy closed the door behind her, Lucy raised a brow.

"Well? Was it _very_ improper?" she asked with a suggestive purr to her tone.

Levy grinned. "Nothing 'proper' about Gajeel Redfox, I'm afraid."

"You certainly don't look like you minded overly much," she teased, and Levy leaned against the door, the smile on her face so wide it almost hurt.

"No," she said, eyes twinkling in the dim light. "I really don't."

* * *

AN: FLUUUUFFFFFF. Wonderful what can happen once you get rid of the prejudice, huh? GAH, I've got such a soft heart for pairings that aren't allowed/supposed to be together. Hand me a pair of doomed lovers and I'll ship myself into a stupor, I tell ya.

**get in a lather**: get worked up/angry

**baby grand**: heavily built man

**barrel house**: illegal distillery

**beef**: complaint/to complain

**vamp**: seducer of men


	23. lair of the phantom lord

AN: And the story continues! More plot, more fun! And Jose makes his long awaited appearance. For the record, I friggin' love Mashima's batshit crazy characters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXIII**

"Well?"

Makarov leaned back in his chair, brows dipping down in a deep frown. He looked tired, from what Gajeel could tell. Like his years were finally beginning to show signs of wearing on him. Of course, he'd never openly admit to it, but hell, anyone who worked with him had to know how the situation was affecting him. Then again, not everyone could fight an internal, corporate war against their own son and heir and still manage to crack a smile at the end of the day.

Leaning his weight against the wall behind him, Gajeel regarded his boss with a frown of his own. He'd been strangely silent throughout the meeting, and hadn't even made a single joke on Gajeel's expense. Which, considering the current situation with Levy, was hella strange. Not that he was about to bring it up, even if it might lighten the mood. He wasn't a self-sacrificing fella.

It was Laxus who first broke the silence. "We're keeping as close an eye as we can, but for the moment there's only so much we can do without raising suspicions." He shrugged, and his look darkened considerably. "Not that he's been any less persistent..."

Gajeel snorted. "Nutter's always been lookin' to get rid of the old man, and he thinks you're next in line for the company. Figures he'd come knockin' at yer door."

Laxus got a look on his face that mirrored that of his grandfather. "I'd rather he didn't," he said simply, and Gajeel didn't push the subject. Hell, he remembered what it was like, serving under someone whose expectations exceeded what was in your best interests. At least Jose hadn't been his father. He figured the blonde man had to have it pretty rough, torn between two loyalties. And though the choice was pretty simple from Gajeel's perspective, he couldn't really flap his gums too much – he was on Ivan's payroll himself, after all. At least for moment.

Makarov hummed under his breath. "Has he said anything else about that?" There was an edge to his voice, barely detectable, but Gajeel caught it.

Laxus sighed. "He mentioned something about me convincing you to sign the company over to me...in your will." The way he shifted in his stance told Gajeel he wasn't very happy about it, but Laxus was fond of his grandfather, and if Ivan had plans to get the company through the geezer's will, it meant only one thing.

Makarov said nothing, but his gaze shifted to the bookcase to the left of him, and the picture on the middle shelf, depicting the innocent young face of the man that would grow into the biggest madman the city had ever seen. Gajeel wondered if he was thinking about what went wrong, and what he'd done to raise a son plotting to murder him and take the livelihood he would have no doubt handed to him willingly, if he hadn't been so completely off his nuts.

The silence that followed was laden, and Gajeel fidgeted where he stood, suddenly uncomfortable. It was one hell of a family mess, and sometimes he felt like he was sticking his nose into beeswax that wasn't his to pry. But he couldn't escape the fact that he was as knee-deep as the rest of them, even if he wasn't related by blood.

After a lull, Makarov shook his head, as though physically shaking the thoughts from his mind. "Gajeel," he spoke then, and when he turned his gaze on him, the shadows were gone from them, but not the exhaustion. "Has Lily said anything more regarding the...arrangement, with the other clubs?" The way he said it told Gajeel more than enough of what he thought about the matter.

Gajeel grimaced. "Nothing new, 's far as I know. Sabertooth just put another one of Ivan's boys down, but he had to have known that was comin' sooner or later. Hasn't done anything about it, though, and Lil's on edge about it." Hell, Gajeel was on edge about it. Ivan didn't let things lie like that, especially if he was on the losing side of anything. Although he figured the ones really suffering were his own prize-fighters. For a split second, Gajeel felt sorry for the poor sods.

"Sabertooth doesn't strike me as the club who plays well with others. Why propose an arrangement in the first place?" Laxus asked.

Gajeel shrugged. "Hell if I know. Old man Gemma's not in charge anymore, so maybe they're rethinkin' their strategy or somethin'."

Laxus raised a disbelieving brow. "You don't even sound like you believe that yourself."

"That's 'cause I don't."

Makarov looked troubled. "There's something...off, about that ordeal," he said then. "I've known Gemma for years. The heart-attack..." he shook his head. "It doesn't sit well with me. Last I saw him he was as viral as ever." The 'and as obnoxious as ever' was unspoken, but Gajeel heard it regardless. He'd met the man on a few occasions, and hadn't liked him. There was something to be said about discipline in a boxing club, but the old man had taken that a little too far. But Makarov was right – despite his age, Gemma had always been in tip-top shape.

An uncomfortable, laden lull descended over the three of them as the implications of Makarov's words fully settled.

"Minerva wouldn't be the first heir eager to take over a legacy," Laxus said then, and his voice fell like a weight on the already tense air in the office.

Makarov's look was uncharacteristically dark as he stared at a pile of documents on his desk, idly fiddling with a pen in front of him. "No, she would not," he agreed, almost to himself.

Gajeel felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand out. It was all a little too familiar, for his tastes. He didn't trust the wench who now owned Sabertooth for a second, just like he hadn't trusted Gemma himself. But unscrupulous old bastard or not, at least the old geezer had been an honest fella. He'd met the wench once, and she'd reeked of trouble from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. It was one thing wishing for your club to be at the top, but there was something about the whole ordeal that smacked of something darker. Arrangement or not, he would bet his next three pay-checks the bitch would sell her partners out if a better deal presented itself.

And he knew better than anyone that Ivan was good at making deals.

He resisted the urge to let his head drop back against the wall in a full slouch. The old man always asked him to take a seat whenever he was called in for meetings, and he always refused, but he usually kept some semblance of respect when meeting with the geezer. Although standing upright for longer periods of time had been wearing on him lately, and he knew the old man had caught on, and hadn't spoken a word of his behaviour.

The wound _was_ healing, though, and he knew it wasn't long until the hag deemed him fit enough get back in the business. And Shorty had finally come around, too. Things were looking up – hell, he'd almost go so far as to say he hadn't been so well off in...well, ever. But even if his luck seemed to be with him, it was hard to enjoy himself too much, what with the trouble brewing on all sides. That they were knee deep in shit was putting things lightly_; _he didn't even want to think about what could happen if something went wrong. Say, if Ivan grew sick of just waiting around for an opportunity to take his old man down, or if Sabertooth was actually after something else than to protect their own interests. And then there was Jose, who had to pick the _worst_ moment to add his two cents to the pile.

He should probably tell the old man about that, if Juvia hadn't. "Oye, Master."

Makarov looked up from behind his laced fingers, as though pulled out of deep thoughts. "Yes, my boy?"

Gajeel sighed, and crossed his arms. "Not to drop more crap on yer plate, but Juvia received summons from Jose. For the both of us."

Makarov's brows furrowed sharply. "Did she say what is was about?"

Gajeel shrugged. "Beats me, but she said somethin' about Ivan not being very popular amongst the mob these days. Could have something to do with that. And it ain't like we need another turf war, so it might be worth checking what he wants."

Makarov rubbed a hand across his brow, and his shoulders slumped. "No, that is definitely not something we need right now," he muttered under his breath, no doubt remembering the trouble the last skirmish had caused. Hell, Gajeel had been knee-deep in it himself. He didn't know if Ivan's boys had anything on the former Grimoire Heart, but he wouldn't take his chances, and from the look on the old geezer's face, neither would he.

"We can't afford more enemies," Makarov said then. "Not with things the way there are. But if Jose is willing to strike a deal...we might not have a choice." Looking up, he met Gajeel's gaze. "Find Juvia and see what he wants. An alliance might not be such a bad thing, if they can keep their end of whatever arrangement he wishes to make."

Gajeel nodded, and with one look at Laxus, the two left the office. That there wasn't an indignant call for him to tuck his shirt into his trousers only emphasised the fact that the big cheese had a lot on his mind, and Gajeel tried not to let it bother him.

"I'll get back to you with word from my old man," Laxus said then, before making his way towards the table at the back, where his posse was waiting for him. Gajeel said nothing, but let his gaze sweep across the room, landing on the small form sitting by the bar.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he made his way over. The joint was being prepped for the night's shenanigans, and though he wasn't one for parties, he was looking forward to the liquor. It was hella difficult to get hold of anything that wasn't coffin varnish, even as a bootlegger. Most of what he smuggled for the old man went to the speakeasy, anyway, and the only time he got hold of some of it was during the festivities. But he could handle that, he guessed. And Shorty would no doubt put on her glad-rags, anyway, so that was something to look forward to.

He didn't say anything as he stepped up behind her, noting with a raised brow the large book splayed across the bartop. She didn't even look up from the page, her eyes were so intently focused on whatever she was reading. With a grin, he placed a hand at the small of her back, letting it run up her spine, and as suspected, the surprised yelp he got for his efforts lifted his mood a little.

She whirled around on her stool, eyes wide with indignation at his breach of propriety, but once she saw who it was she settled back down. "Oh."

He grinned. "Sorry ta disappoint."

She smiled. "Call it pleasantly disappointed," she said, and he leaned over to look at what she was reading.

"New book?"

"Oh, it's not really new, or mine. I wanted to borrow something from the library yesterday, but that would require giving my name, so I couldn't," she explained, and nodded towards the other side of the room, where Leo was sitting on one of the tables with the blonde and the idiot. "Then Loke told Makarov about it, and he gave me access to his personal library," she said, and the smile on her face was almost enough to make Gajeel think that _maybe_ the cake-eater wasn't half-bad.

He snorted. "Well, that'll keep ya entertained."

She looked oddly sheepish. "Yes, well, I've got to do something or I'll go crazy. I'm looking forward to the party tonight, though," she said, looking up at him. "Will you be there?"

He was about to answer when Cana stepped up in front of them. "That depends," she drawled, cutting him off, and he turned to glare at her, about to ask what the hell she was on about when she held something out to him. It was a folded piece of paper – a blue swan.

Juvia's calling card.

"Doll stopped by earlier and said to give this to ya. Sounded urgent."

He could feel Levy's eyes on his back as he accepted the note, unfolding it and reading the contents. Coded, of course. But a code they'd both used during their time with the Phantoms, and simple enough to decipher when he knew was he was looking for.

"Bad news?"

Looking up, he pocketed the note. "Not yet," he muttered.

Levy frowned, and Cana mirrored it. "You'll be busy tonight," Shorty said then.

And for the first time since coming to Fairy Tail, Gajeel actually regretted it. "Yeah."

She smiled. "I'm sure Cana can save you a glass," she said, looking towards the brunette, who was watching them with a smug smile on her face.

"For you, doll, of course I can," she said with a wink. "Lucky Redfox, got himself a lady who looks after his liquor," she added with a grin.

Gajeel snorted. "Dry up, Alberona."

"Keep flappin' yer gums and that drink won't be waitin' fer ya when ya get back." The way she said it told him she knew more than she let on about the situation, and that the threat was angled more towards him actually coming back alive. She might do most of her work on the inside, but Gajeel had never taken Cana lightly. She knew the business Jose ran as well as the rest of them, and if she'd spoken to Juvia, she was well aware of the risk they were taking.

"I'll flap my gums as much as I damn well want," he grumbled, not at all that put off. "And that drink better be on the table. Scotch, and the best you've got."

She smirked. "Wouldn't dare servin' _you_ anything less," she quipped, crossing her arms over her chest. Gajeel returned the smirk.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Levy's odd look, as though the entire conversation had gone right over her head. And it had – she'd have to spend a whole lot more time around Cana if she wanted to _really_ hear what the wench said.

But he wouldn't worry her more by letting slip that Cana was genuinely concerned – it'd only make things worse.

Looking towards the old clock on the wall, he frowned, knowing it was time for him to leave. When he looked back at Shorty, she had a look on her face that told him she'd caught on. "Now?"

He nodded, and was about to say something when she caught him by surprise, leaning forward and grasping the lapels of his shirt to tug him towards her, placing her mouth to his in a kiss that wasn't inappropriate, but it wasn't _chaste_, either. She tasted like white rum, and he grinned against her mouth, reaching up to tangle his fingers in her hair and tug her closer.

When she pulled back, Gajeel caught Cana's wide eyed stare and smirked, reaching out to ruffle Levy's hair. "Be careful," she said, and gave him a smile that actually made him feel like _wanting_ to be careful. Which was a new one, he mused.

"Aa."

Turning towards the doorway, he shoved his hands into his pockets, ignoring the bemused stares following him as he went. After Shorty's little performance, he guessed the rumour mills would be churning like crazy. Lily would be so pleased.

Passing by Leo's table, he stopped long enough to pass on a single phrase. "Any lecher hitting on her tonight, make him regret it."

Leo grinned, and tipped his hat. "Aye to that."

Gajeel smirked, and without further ado, headed for the exit.

* * *

It had been a good while since he'd been to these parts.

Lighting a cigarette, Gajeel stuck it between his teeth as he checked the weapons he'd taken with him, making sure they were concealed yet visible for the trained eye. He wasn't about to attract attention as a possibly unarmed schmuck who'd gotten lost and was ripe for the picking. At one time his appearance alone and his reputation would have earned him a free pass, but he hadn't frequented this part of the Alleys for years, and with all the rookies running around, the odds were one of them would make the mistake of coming after him. Like the fool who'd gotten him _shot_.

Grumbling to himself, he slouched against the side of a dark building, keeping to the shadows and letting his eyes make the occasional sweep of the street. Juvia would find him even if he'd actually tried to conceal himself properly, but that didn't mean every other passer-by had to. Although, he mused with a careless smirk, the light from his cigarette would probably do it.

Exhaling a lungful of smoke, he let his eyes wander the ramshackle buildings, remembering a time when he'd lived in one of them. A time long before the name 'Makarov' had meant anything but trouble (although it still did, but in a different way), and where he'd been dependent on his next paycheck to secure his next meal and lodgings. And though he couldn't have imagined a better existence at the time, now he couldn't imagine going back. Now that he had comfortable rooms, free food and liquor regardless of the ban, the thought of going back was just ridiculous. But he'd been younger back then. Younger, and stupider, and utterly ignorant of where the real power in the city lay. It wasn't in the hands of a local gangster, that's for sure, and he scoffed softly at the thought that, at the time, he'd actually believed that.

"If Juvia couldn't already see Gajeel, she could certainly _smell_ him," came the amused voice from somewhere to his right, and he looked up to see the lady herself emerge from the shadows. Dressed in dark colours, she blended well, and when she stepped out into the dim light of the open street, it almost seemed like the darkness clung to her as she moved. He remembered envying her stealth at one point during their partnership, but then, sneaking had never been his deal. He rushed in, guns blazing, and that had always worked to his advantage.

Although the fact that he hadn't even sensed her approach was probably a damn good advantage for _her_, and for a moment, he was damn glad she was on his side.

"Yer late."

Her smile was demure. "Juvia had...other matters to attend to, and lost track of time." There was a hint of sheepishness at the end of her excuse.

He snorted. "Were ya followin' the stripper again?"

She blushed, but looked indignant. "N-no, Juvia was _not."_

Gajeel smirked. "Well, everyone needs a hobby," he mused. "Ya ready to go?"

She nodded, and in a second she was back to business. "Ready when Gajeel is."

Pushing away from the wall, he motioned down the dark street. "Jose's hole still where it was?"

She shook her head, and took the lead without hesitation. "No, but Juvia will show."

It didn't surprise him that she knew; the woman knew pretty much everything that went on in the Alleys' nooks and crannies, anyway, and he wasn't one to question. "So what d'ya think it's about?" he asked instead, voice low, as they rounded a dark corner into a small side-street.

Juvia's gaze shifted, checking for unwanted company, before she replied, voice just as low. "Juvia has her suspicions. She thinks perhaps he is afraid."

Gajeel snorted. "Desperate times and all that shit, huh?" Not that he blamed the man. Ivan wasn't an enemy anyone wanted.

She shrugged, but there was a tense set to her shoulders, and she didn't say anything else as they walked. The route took them down another street and into a small alley barely discernible amongst the dark brick buildings. At the far end stood a door, seemingly unwatched, but Gajeel could count as much as four men against the shadows of the walls rising on either side. He didn't say anything, and neither did Juvia as she walked into the sliver of light from the open window on the second storey.

"We have an appointment," she said then, voice devoid of it's usual light and girlish lilt, having dropped to the tone she used when she worked.

There was no immediate answer from the shadows, but a shape shifted close to the door, before the sharp rap of knuckles on wood echoed in the dark. Gajeel stuffed his hands into his pockets, already tired of the loon's need for secrecy. Then again, Jose had always fancied himself more important than what he really was.

A lull passed, before the door was unlocked from the inside, and light spilled out into the alley as it was pushed open. Juvia didn't wait another minute before she proceeded, and Gajeel said nothing as he followed suit. What followed was a short trek down a cramped, dimly-lit hallway, before another door was opened before them, allowing them entry into what Gajeel assumed was the man's current office. As they stepped inside, the smell of cigarette smoke was heavy on the air, and an old lamp burned on an overly elaborate desk that looked like it belonged in some fat cat's posh study. It would seem Ivan wasn't the only nutter in the city with a taste for the tasteless.

Behind the desk sat their old boss, nursing a drink of liquor whose origins Gajeel could only speculate. Makarov had, in theory, monopoly of the moonshine business in Magnolia, but that didn't stop amateurs like Jose from trying their hand at in now and then. It was probably cheap hooch, anyway.

"Ah, Gajeel, Juvia dear," he greeted, and with a wave of his hand the door to the office shut behind them. Gajeel cast a wary eye at it, before turning his gaze back to the man. Feet propped on the desk in front of him and dressed in a suit that was trying to look more high class than it really was, Jose hadn't changed much in the years Gajeel had been away.

"Please, sit," he offered, sickeningly polite as always, and motioning to the two chairs set out in front of his desk.

Neither of them moved from where they stood, and Jose forced a smile. "Ah, very well." Straightening in his chair and taking his feet from the desk, he adjusted his tie.

"I assume you're both curious as to why I've called you here," he said then, as he rose from his chair. Gajeel didn't flinch as he walked around the desk, but kept a sharp eye on his former boss as he moved towards the small bowl of goldfish at the back of the room. "Hello, gentlemen," he greeted them with a murmur, and Gajeel shot Juvia a look, to which she only returned a blank stare. Gajeel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Goddamn crazy nutter hasn't changed a lick. _

"You see," Jose began, as he set about feeding the fish, his back turned in what he no doubt thought was a sign of trust. "I'm getting rather sick of the situation as it is," he continued with a sigh, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he watched the fish swim around in the bowl, eagerly going for the food.

"Always pushed around by those damn fat cats," he murmured, back still turned, and Gajeel almost wondered if he was still talking to them. "So," he said suddenly, spinning around and pinning them with a smile that looked like it was meant to placate, but it only served to send chills down his back.

"I was going to try to make some sort of arrangement with the old man. You know, I'd rather not be on the losing side in this war – and it _is_ a war, whether you like it or not." He turned back to the bowl of fish. "Last time didn't end well for my boys. Took me a long time to get back to where I was – where I am _now._ A lot of favours called in, and a lot of sacrifices. It's a tough world in the Alleys, but then, you two would know all about that..."

Gajeel wondered if this was going to be a very long speech, when his attention was claimed by something Jose had said.

"What do you mean '_was_' going to make an arrangement?" It was the first he had spoken since entering the office, and it was a dark rumble in the dim room. From beside him, Juvia stiffened.

When he turned, an odd sort of smile had replaced the grin on Jose's face, but he spoke as though Gajeel hadn't said anything. "I'd heard rumours a certain wealthy _heir_ was under the old man's protection," he said then, and Gajeel went rigid at the implication.

Jose seemed wholly unperturbed by the sudden change in the atmosphere. "A certain Miss Heartfilia," he continued. "Now, _that's_ some news, I thought, and it's just my luck, too, because I've been looking for a way go get under the geezer's skin. And now," he held out his hands, a pleased smile on his face, "I'd found it."

The lock on the door behind them snapped shut suddenly, and Gajeel's hand flew to his gun, pulling it out and levelling it at Jose's head before the latch on the door had slid fully into place. And he didn't need to look at her to know Juvia had reached for her umbrella, gloved hands tight around the hidden blade concealed in the slim handle.

Jose hadn't even moved, and observed their change from wary suspicion to outright hostility with a grim smile. "But then, I realized," he began again, as though keeping to the script of a damn _speech_, and tucked his hands behind his back casually. "What is one wealthy heir to two of Makarov's _favourites_?" He laughed. "You couldn't have made it easier, my dears, walking in here like you have! Really, I'd have expected more caution of you two." He shook his head, "My sharpest blades, dulled by neglect. A shame. Truly."

He motioned with his hand, and out of the nooks and corners of the room stepped five shapes whose presences Gajeel hadn't even sensed, followed by the echoing 'clicks' of guns being cocked on all sides. Gajeel cursed under his breath, and from beside him he caught Juvia's deep frown. _She_ hadn't sensed them, either. If she had, they would have been out the door before even stepping foot inside. Whoever Jose had gotten his hands on weren't mere rookies.

"Five," she spoke then, voice low. No more, no less. He knew she wouldn't have let anyone slip past her defences now, to catch them off guard. If she said it was five, he was inclined to believe her. Gajeel tightened his grip on his gun, a ragged exhale escaping him as he took in the situation before them.

It looked like his luck had finally run out.

"Fuck."

* * *

AN: At first I contemplated having Jose want make a genuine offer of help, but then I decided against it. Fella's so shady, not even an AU setting like this could make him give up his quest for power. And work _with _Makarov? Yeah, that's wasn't gonna fly.

Fun fact: Jose's goldfish are named Aria, Sol and Totomaru, after the remaining members of the Element Four. 'Cause I wanted to squeeze them into the story...


	24. sleeping with the fishes

AN: What have you two crazy kids gotten yourself into now, huh? And I don't know how I missed this, but I found a hidden gem a few days ago that the Lily/Shagotte supporters of this story will enjoy! **Yssa on tumblr has drawn a gorgeous sketch of human Lily and Shagotte** **from Hard Liquor**, and I'm still recovering from the shock of this glorious discovery. It's reblogged on my tumblr (link's in my profile), but she's _brilliant_ so it's definitely worth checking out her art blog (dearbassy on tumblr).

**Warning**: there be violence in this here chapter, aye. Violence and language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXIV**

"Fuck."

One hand clenched around his old man's gun and the other a hairsbreadth away from the knife at his hip, Gajeel made a quick sweep of the room. Five men; one on each side of Jose, one behind them, one to Juvia's immediate left and one to his right. One locked door and no windows. Shut in and surrounded.

And by the smug look on Jose's face, he was more than a little pleased with his own cunning.

Rat _bastard_.

Juvia said nothing, but he could feel her tension from where he stood, shivering along the edge of his nerves, and he noticed her tighten her grip on the handle of her umbrella. The blade remained unsheathed, but he knew if one of the bastards so much as flinched, she'd have it out before even he could blink.

Which left a very good question – why the hell _weren't_ they doing anything?

"Oh, they're not hesitating. I'm just not planning on killing you," Jose spoke up with a shrug of his shoulders as he leaned back against the wall behind him.

Gajeel snorted, but never took his eyes away from his grinning target. "Then what the hell d'ya want?" The bastard always wanted _something_, and Gajeel would bet his next paycheck it was something ridiculous.

Jose's grin widened. "Oh, I just want what I've always wanted, Gajeel," he said, dark eyes glinting from beneath the brim of his hat. "My rightful share of the pie in this town."

Gajeel frowned, wondering what the hell he was on about, when Juvia spoke up. "Moonshine."

Jose held his hands out, a mockery of pride. "Clever Juvia, always so perceptive. Yes – moonshine." His look darkened suddenly. "The ban might have been the best thing that happened to _Makarov_, but for the rest of us, it's been a nuisance. Nothing more than a chance for the rich to become richer, and where does that leave honest working men like me?"

Gajeel didn't even bother to snort, knowing the fella was crazy enough to actually believe his own words. But then he'd always had a grudge towards Makarov. "The old man worked his way to the top, ya know. The hell have _you_ been doin'?"

Pushing away from the wall, Jose slammed his hands onto his desk, making the lamp jump and clatter against the tabletop. "What have _I _been doing?!" he shouted. "I have been in the _shadows_! The gutters of the city, because the joys of this life are reserved for the fat cats of high society! Makarov already had an empire before the ban – he had no right to intervene in _my_ world!"

"It ain't _your_ world, ya loon. The city wanted hooch, and the old man got it for them," Gajeel drawled. He wondered how long the idiot was going to keep on ranting about his misfortunes, and if the shooting was ever going to start. His shoulders were so tense they ached, and the wound throbbed with the exertion of standing so rigidly upright. He felt feverish with sweat, but tried his best to keep from showing it. He caught Juvia's quick glance, but she said nothing, and her expression betrayed even less than her silence.

"Of course he did!" Jose snapped. "Swimming in money as he always has, sponsoring his barrel houses probably didn't so much as put a dent in his fortune! But for the rest of us? By the time I'd found the capital to start my own business, all everyone could ever talk about was 'Fairy Tail' and the quality of the geezer's liquor." He scoffed, lifting the glass he'd been drinking when they'd entered. A sneer pulled at his lip as he sniffed the contents. "Coffin varnish, they've called it. _Poisonous_. Said my gin mill wasn't worth _lick_." With a last disdainful look at the glass, he hurtled it across the room. Gajeel didn't even flinch as it crashed against the wall behind him, and the sound of glass raining down on the floor echoed loudly in the cramped room.

Breathing in deeply to calm himself, Jose lifted his hat, running a hand through his hair before putting it back on. Straightening his posture, he levelled the two of them with an eerie sort of smile. "So, I've found I've grown tired of hunting for scraps. I want his share. _All of it_."

"Fairy Tail?" Juvia asked then, and her tone held a note of warning in it.

Gajeel scoffed. "Hate to break it to ya, but the old man's folks ain't gonna want to work fer ya. Hell, most of 'em are adopted, not hired."

Jose sneer was vicious. "You talk like I'd actually want the punks around. I'll just take the speakeasy. And the distilleries. And when the brats have tried to make it in the world outside of Makarov's shadow and seen what life is really like, I _might _allow them to come back. Some of them."

Gajeel was beginning to get sick of listening to the guy's bullshit; at this rate he'd start making Ivan sound sane. "And how are ya gonna manage that? The big cheese ain't about ta just hand the damn thing over, and killing us ain't gonna work in your favour, if that's what ya think." Hell that left en even bigger question. Why _them_, and why the hell go through all the trouble of getting them to meet him? Had Jose finally lost it?

Jose laughed. "Ah, but didn't I just say that I wasn't going to kill you? My dears, I'm going to keep you for _ransom_. I was going to go for the Heartfilia girl, but then I thought the better of it. She hasn't been there for long, but you two..." he smiled. "I've been saying for years that picking rats off the streets would be the old man's downfall. Getting attached to your subjects is bad for business, but then his heart's always been too soft for this job. It's better left to those of us who know the workings of this world. There's no room for fat cats in the Alleys, and the sooner he realizes that, the better."

Gajeel blinked, not sure he'd understood, before the words fully settled in his mind and the implications hit him.

Oh _hell_ no!

"_Ransom?!"_ he exploded, and Jose jumped, before quickly schooling his expression. "Do I look like a fucking _damsel_ to you?!" His fingers twitched around the gun as his anger bubbled up. No one would ever let him live it down if he had to get his ass _rescued. _Fuck no. He was shooting his way out if it cost him his–

"Gajeel," Juvia warned, sensing where the news was taking his mood.

"I ain't gonna be kept for fucking ransom, Juvia. No fucking way."

Jose shrugged, but looked wary. "The area is guarded. You are surrounded, and as it is, I don't think you've got much of a choice in the matter."

Gajeel's fingers clenched around the gun, itching to shoot the bastard and shut him up. If he hadn't been annoying before, he'd crossed a line with the ransom-comment. Who did the nutter think he was dealing with, _rookies? _From the corner of his eye, he caught Juvia's sharp look, followed by the near imperceptible nod and the tightening of the skin at the corners of her eyes.

And suddenly, he was back again. To the damp, dark alleyways of his early career; his back against the brick walls of the Alleys dingy corners and his old man's gun in his hand, surrounded on all sides by rival gangs. And in the shadows beside him, the familiar shape of the woman who'd eared her reputation by means not even he was privy to, but going by her methods in a fight, didn't really want to know.

That had been years ago, and they hadn't been on a job together since, but it was remarkable how easily they slipped back into the familiar routine. The small motions, and the silent communication. So he waited, gun cocked, aimed and ready, his breath measured and low and his blood a steady thrum in his ears. His muscles strained, and the wound ached, but he patiently kept his posture intact, revealing nothing of his intentions.

Then he heard it; the soft intake of breath. Almost completely imperceptible, but then he'd been listening for it.

_Now_.

He didn't hesitate a second before abruptly shifting his weight to his right leg and slamming the butt of his gun into the forehead of the fella to his right, the motion in perfect tandem with the sharp '_shiiiik_' of Juvia unsheathing her blade, and followed by the soft twanging sound as she cut a clean arch, slicing the throat of the man to her left.

The bodies hadn't even hit the ground before Gajeel was spinning back around, aiming his gun at the one behind them, and the force of the following shot sent his arm recoiling painfully, but the bullet struck true, right between the eyes. The fella's heavy frame was knocked back, striking the wall with a crash and sliding down onto the bits of glass littering the floor.

The remaining two were quick, though, and he hadn't even taken a breath and turned back when another gunshot rang out, but before he'd had a chance to duck for cover Juvia had stepped in front of him, and he caught the hiss of pain as the bullet struck, making her left arm bounce back against his chest. The hand holding the blade flew to her shoulder to clamp around the flow of blood.

"Idiot!" Gajeel snapped, although realizing with a start that without her the bullet would have killed him, aimed at his heart as it had been. She didn't respond to his admonishment, but pushed herself away from him. With a growl, she lifted the blade and sent it flying across the room, striking the gunner in the throat and impaling him on the wall opposite before he could take another shot. The remaining goon lifted his weapon just as his companion hit the wall with a gurgle, and Gajeel threw himself to the floor as the next shot rang out. He caught Juvia doing the same, turning the fall into an elegant roll, and despite her bleeding shoulder, bounced up onto her feet like a cat. Running the last few steps towards the man, Gajeel caught her pulling out a knife as she made a final leap towards him. Kicking the gun out of the man's grip, she lodged the knife in his gut without hesitation, but he caught her injured shoulder and slammed her into the desk.

Gajeel had been on his feet the instant she drove the knife into the goon's midsection, and advanced on Jose, who'd retreated to the back. Always putting his underlings up for cannon fodder before he stepped into the fray – he was still a coward, and Gajeel felt a surge of fury left from his days as the man's hired gun as he strode across the room. Meeting his gaze, Jose smirked, and raised a gun of his own, challenge shining in his eyes.

They were both distracted by Juvia's sudden furious cry, and Gajeel had to take a step back as she made a grab for the fish-bowl on the small table, gloved fingers curling around the rim, and he caught Jose's distressed shout as she slammed the bowl, fish and all, into the head of her attacker. Water and glass sprayed everywhere, and Gajeel had to shield his eyes as it rained over the three of them, and grimaced as one of the goldfish came flying at him before hitting the floor by his feet. The last goon slumped to the ground in a heap of glass and water slowly turning red. Above him, Juvia wiped her soaked hair out of her face with a dignified flick.

Jose snarled, forgetting Gajeel as he made for the woman. "_Bitch_–"

Taking the opportunity, Gajeel had him by the throat before he'd so much as taken a step, and slammed him back against the wall. The gun clattered to the ground, and Gajeel pressed the muzzle of his own against Jose's temple.

"Nice try," he growled, pressing the older man against the wall. "What was that you said about dull blades?"

Jose glared at him. Water dripped down between his eyes, and his hair was soaked. His hat was somewhere on the floor, and without it he looked more like a rat than ever. Gajeel was tempted to shoot him right there when Juvia spoke up.

"The Master will want a word with him," she said, her tone a warning for him to not get carried away, and Gajeel scoffed, although he knew Makarov wouldn't be pleased if he just bumped the fucker off. Even if he was a scheming little bastard who deserved nothing less.

Jose smirked, eyes shifting to the woman. "What's happened, Juvia dear? You were never one for negotiations in the past," he mocked, voice a wheeze from where Gajeel's fingers were squeezing his throat. At the remark, Gajeel tightened his grip, and Jose's eyes bulged.

"I suggest ya keep yer trap shut," he growled.

"Things have changed," Juvia said then, voice low as she stepped up to her old boss. "Juvia is not the same."

Jose sneered. "Keep telling yourself that, and maybe you'll believe it."

Juvia said nothing, and Jose smirked. "Did I hit a nerve?" he taunted. "How much blood is on your hands, Juvia? Is that what Makarov offered you – a chance to wipe them clean? Oh, my dear. You know you can't escape–"

Gajeel slammed him back against the wall. "Trap. _Shut_."

Raising dark unforgiving eyes on him, Jose suddenly grinned, and Gajeel barely had time to think about what the hell _that_ look meant, before the man drove his knee in a sharp upward arch, sending it straight into his midsection and the wound. His vision went dark around the edges as blind pain shot through his system, and he lost his grip as he staggered. The room seemed to tip as he was sent crashing to the ground, and he hissed as his brow struck against something sharp, before something warm and wet trickled down between his eyes.

"_Gajeel!" _

Jose didn't have time to flinch before Juvia was on him, and though one arm was rendered useless, she had him face-down on the floor with his right arm twisted behind his back before Gajeel had managed to gather his wits and pick himself up.

"Gajeel," she repeated, distress clear in her tone. "Are you alright?"

He groaned, and raised himself from the puddle of glass and water and dead fish. "Been better. _Fuck_." Raising a hand to his searing brow, he pulled his fingers back to find them coated in blood.

From next to him on the floor, Jose laughed, although it turned into a cough when Juvia drove her knee into his back. "You thought I didn't know about the wound? Fool _boy_. I didn't issue the order for your death, but I got the news – they were _my_ men you shot down, unless you've forgotten."

Gajeel snarled as he picked himself up, keeping one hand on his brow to stop the flow of blood. He looked down at the pathetic heap of the man he'd served for so many years of his youth. "So were we once," he said then, voice a dark rumble. He met Jose's gaze from above him with a glare. "Quittin' was the best damn decision we ever made," he said, and before the man had another chance at opening his mouth, aimed a sharp, precise kick to his temple, effectively shutting him up.

His tense form slumped, but Juvia didn't slacken her grip from where she sat. There were cuts on her face from the glass and the coat covering her left shoulder was soaked through with blood. Her hair stood out wildly in all directions, and her hat was missing. It had been years since Gajeel had seen her appearance so rumpled, and if it hadn't been for the fact that it could easily have been them littering the floor and not Jose's new lapdogs and pet fish, he would have cracked a joke on her expense.

But he noticed she wasn't saying anything, and knew the bastard's words had gotten to her. Not many knew how much her previous affiliations with the mob bothered her, and he'd never said anything to betray that. It was her secret to keep. It wasn't that she hadn't been her weird-assed self before Fairy Tail, but he'd be lying if he tried to convince himself she hadn't been a ruthless torpedo, as well. Jose was right, she did have blood on her hands, and probably more than even most in Fairy Tail would be comfortable with if they knew. He understood her reasons for wanting to hide it, and resisted the urge to give Jose a kick for good measure for bringing it up in the first place.

"Hey. You okay?" he asked, kneeling down to check the man's pulse, before shifting his gaze to his former partner. Her hands were shaking where her fingers still clutched Jose's arm, and he wondered if it wouldn't break with the pressure she was putting on it.

She inhaled deeply then, closing her eyes, and when she opened them some of the shadows were gone, but far from all. Nodding her head silently, she finally loosened her grip on Jose's twisted arm, hands trembling with the exertion, before reaching tentative fingers to the wound on her arm. She hissed at the contact, and pulled them back sharply as a grimace of pain contorted her features.

Gajeel's brows furrowed, and he cursed under his breath as the movement pulled at the cut on his brow, and more blood seeped between his fingers. "Goddamnit!"

She quirked a small smile at that, but it was hollow compared to her usual ones. "Sorry about the glass."

He snorted, wiping blood out of his eyes. "The hell are ya sorry for? Idiot almost went off his nuts when ya threw the bowl – it was brilliant."

She didn't laugh, and not for the first time did he wish he wasn't so fucking awkward when it came to lightening the mood. He wasn't cut out for comfort, but he had no idea what else to do.

He was contemplating cracking a joke about the stripper, just to get a reaction other than that damn haunted look, when Juvia turned her gaze to the door. Apprehension replaced some of the guilt, and he silently seconded her concern. They were both injured; her arm was useless, and the wound in his side throbbed so much he thought he might just pass out. _And_ they were smack in the middle of the most hostile part of the Alleys, with no way out than the one they had come in. And hired or not, he didn't think Jose's underlings would just let them walk back out with their unconscious boss.

Stifling a groan, he rose to his feet, and Juvia followed gingerly. Looking towards the door at the end of the room, Gajeel wondered how many more goons were stationed around the compound. Enough for them to get by, guns blazing, or enough for them to be stopped before they'd even taken one step outside?

"Juvia knows," Juvia said then, and he looked at her to see her pull something out her the pocket of her ripped coat. His brows rose despite himself, at the sight of the dynamite.

"The hell d'ya keep _that_ around for?"

She quirked a small smile that tugged at a shallow cut on her chin, and blood trickled down her neck. "For situations like this?"

Wiping away the blood, she moved towards the far wall that he hoped led out into an alley and not another room. A quick escape seemed like the better option, even if they were gonna make one hell of an exit. Lodging the stick into a fissure in the wall, she motioned for the desk. Gajeel snorted, but rose to the task, stubbornly ignoring his smarting midsection. Pushing the desk against the opposite wall, he tipped it over on its side. It was heavy was hell, and his side burned with the strain, but he wasn't about to tell her that, and when she glanced over her shoulder, he'd dragged Jose's sorry ass behind the overturned desk. In this case, it was probably a good thing that it was so damn huge – it'd be a good enough shield.

Lighting the stick without further ado, Juvia rose calmly to her feet and with a few brusque steps slipped behind the desk, covering her ears and closing her eyes as she waited for the explosives to do their work.

They weren't disappointed, either, when the room shook around them with the sheer force of the blow, and Gajeel winced as the sound exploded in his ears, despite his attempts at muffling it the best he could. Pieces of wood and brick fell from the ceiling, and when he cracked an eye open, the office was full of dust. From outside, frantic voices caused a muffled cacophony of sound, but he ignored it as he rose from his squat, fingers curling around the neck of Jose's shirt as he dragged him along.

"Time to disappear," he muttered, and Juvia nodded, rising along with him as he went towards the gaping hole that now marked their exit. He caught her pulling her blade out of the neck of the poor sod she'd impaled earlier, and smirked as she casually slid it back into the remains of her umbrella, murmuring under her breath about the state of the thing that had once been so pretty.

Gajeel rolled his eyes. Women were so damn peculiar about those thing, but he didn't voice his opinion, knowing Juvia was more than a little miffed, after having been caught so off guard in Jose's office. He figured she was entitled to take her irritation out on something physical, so long as it wasn't him.

The dust from the explosion was thick in the alley they slipped into, granting them better cover than even the darkness could as they made their way towards what Gajeel thought was the direction of Fairy Tail. Hell, _anywhere_ safe would be welcome in their current state, so long as it was far away from Jose's turf. Moving slowly, it didn't take them long to ease their way past the scattered and confused hirelings running about, and even with Jose's limp form dragging in the dirt behind him, Gajeel had no trouble sneaking past the scurrying rookies. These looked more like Jose's men; brash when the odds were in their favour, and headless chickens when they turned against them. Whoever the goons in Jose's office had been, they had come from somewhere else.

Or someone else.

Pushing those thoughts back, Gajeel hoisted the man a little higher as he continued his trek down the darkened street. It had to be nearing midnight, and he wondered if Fairy Tail was still packed, or they'd closed it for the night. Sometimes, the old man's parties tended to go on for longer than what was healthy, and though Gajeel really didn't want to spoil the fun by barging in, bloodied and dragging the unconscious form of one of the biggest names in the criminal underworld, he couldn't really make himself care. His wound burned against his side, and sweat was running down his neck, dyed red with the amount of blood covering his face. His free hand was still against his brow, but he hoped the worst of the bleeding had stopped.

From beside him, Juvia staggered in her step suddenly, grabbing his arm to steady herself. "Sorry," she murmured, blinking rapidly, and he wondered how much blood she'd lost.

"Dizzy?" he asked, although he didn't really have to, with the way she was swaying on her feet.

Whatever she'd been about to say was lost as she suddenly tipped forward, and if he hadn't had the reflexes he did, she'd have struck the cobbled street face first. "Oye!" The hand holding Jose released its grip, making the man hit the ground with an unceremonious 'thump', and Gajeel made a grab for her coat. She was limp in his grip – completely down for the count, and he stifled a sigh. "Idiot," he muttered, remembering that she'd taken the shot for _him_. Hefting her over one shoulder, he ignored the added weight as he bent down to retrieve the limp body by his feet.

"Always causin' me trouble," he muttered at Jose's undignified shape, fingers curling around the back of his shirt as he hoisted him back up. "The hell have you been eatin'?" he muttered as he dragged him along down the street. The dust was getting into his eyes, and his throat itched with it. And now that his free hand was supporting Juvia's dead weight, there was a steady trickle of blood running down between his eyes.

This definitely wasn't how he'd imagined spending his night.

"Cana better have that drink ready," he muttered as he rounded a corner. It wasn't far to go, he knew, but the wound was giving him hell and the added blood from the cut on his brow was making it increasingly difficult to see straight in the already dust-covered and darkened alleyways.

Nope – _definitely_ not how he'd imagined spending the night.

"Bloody underpaid," he muttered to himself, wincing as each jarring step made the wound throb. "Asking for a damn raise." Shifting the weight over his left shoulder, he wondered how he kept getting into these messes. And he'd thought the prize-fighting business was bad for his health!

The sound of shouts somewhere behind him had his brows furrowing, and he ducked into the first darkened nook he came across, pressing himself against the wall and calming his breathing. The limp form slung over his shoulder made no sound, and he dropped Jose on the ground beside his feet, shoving him further back with his foot for good measure. Not a second later, the sound of running footsteps reached his ears, and he watched as shadowed shapes came into the street, passing him by without even pausing to check. He resisted the urge to scoff. _Rookies_.

There were a lot of them, though, and four stopped not far from his hiding place, their muffled voices drifting back to him. Out searching for their boss, no doubt. Alone he could have taken them out, but with two unconscious bodies, a bleeding head-wound and an inflamed midsection the odds weren't in his favour, so he stayed hidden. He wondered idly if Shorty was still up, but then ignored the thought. He wasn't a vain man, and even if he'd been, she'd already seen him at his worst. First when she'd dragged his sorry ass through the Alleys when he'd been shot, and then in the lockers after the match that had nearly done him in a second time.

Still, as he'd entertained the idea of coming back to the speakeasy, cool and collected to find his drink and his woman waiting for him, his current state rankled him a little bit.

Finally, after loitering around for too damn long, the last of Jose's goons followed the others, and Gajeel waited until their footsteps were out of hearing before stepping out of the shadows. Reaching down, he grabbed hold of Jose's shirt and pulled him along.

Having been idle in the dark, the adrenaline from the fight had drained away, and he could feel his exhaustion as it wrapped itself around him. His muscles strained against his movements, and he felt more than a little feverish. By the time he'd finally reached the back alley of the speakeasy, he had trouble seeing straight for all the blood in his eyes, and the weight of the two limp forms he was carrying was wearing him down fast. Pushing down the back door, he was relieved to find it unlocked. Someone had been out to smoke not too long ago, by the smell of cigarettes that lingered on the air. Shoving it open with his free shoulder, he lugged Jose inside behind him. Music and laughter washed over him as he stepped inside, but he hardly paid it any attention as he staggered down the hallway towards the entrance to the common room. There was no use waiting around for someone to find him – if Jose's idiots had some sense in them and came to the speakeasy, the others would want to be prepared.

Upon his entry, everything stopped. The music halted in the midst of a tune, and the boisterous laughter was stifled immediately as he took an step into the crowded room. The bright light of the overhanging chandeliers stung his blood-soaked eyes, and at any other time the horrified faces of the crowd in their pretty glad-rags would have amused him enough to crack a smile. He caught Cana's speechless stare from behind the bar, and for a split second he wondered if Shorty was in the crowd, but it was getting harder and harder to see.

Makarov stepped forward then, looking horrified but not altogether surprised, and Gajeel felt himself sway a little where he stood. "Yeah," he coughed, throwing Jose's limp form onto the floor in front of him.

"Wasn't up for negotiations."

Shifting Juvia's weight over his shoulder, he felt a smirk tug at his lips at the morbid fascination that rippled across the small crowd of people. Hell, it had to beat whatever entertainment the old man provided for them. Brushing blood-coated strands of hair out of his face, Gajeel finally found a pair of familiar brown eyes in the crowd as Levy pushed her way to the front. He grinned at the mortified look on her face.

"So, how 'bout that drink?"

* * *

His suave entrance hadn't gone as well as he'd planned.

"Looks worse than it is."

He tried not to hiss as a wet cloth was applied to the cut, because he wasn't a goddamn sissy. Cool fingers tilted his head, and the gauze vanished from view, and he was greeted with a head of blue hair just below his chin as Shorty turned around on the sofa. Wringing the cloth over a bowl of warm water, Levy turned back a 'you brought this upon yourself, so deal with it'-look, before pressing it back to his stinging brow. His eye twitched, but that was all he was willing to let on to how he was feeling.

"It's gonna scar," he said then, remembering how she'd reacted to the ones on his forearm, and wanting to get _some_ reaction out of her other than wary silence.

Despite her attempted severity, a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she met his gaze briefly, before turning back to her task. The familiar clink of a glass reached his ears, and he shifted his gaze to the table next to the sofa, where Cana had placed a tumbler of scotch, with a side of tired smirk. She'd just spent the better part of an hour chasing the customers out, before she'd nearly torn him a new one for bleeding all over her newly polished floors. Shallow wounds bled like crazy, but fortunately it hadn't been anything worse. The stitches in his side were still intact, although there was a nice new bruise forming on top of the fading one from the Sabertooth pretty-boy. But he'd gotten his drink and aside from the fact that his brow was giving him hell, he was surprisingly fine.

"How's the cut?" she asked, leaning over to have a look.

Levy frowned. "It looks pretty bad."

"It's just a cut," he grumbled.

Cana snorted. "Sure it is. And the blood all over my floors? Just a puddle?"

He shrugged, then regretted it, as his side disagreed with the motion. "Juvia was doin' most of the bleeding," he reminded her, and Cana rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath about 'reckless idiots'. Levy said nothing as she kept the cloth against his brow, but threw a look across the room to the other sofa that had been pulled out, and on which Juvia and the hag were sitting, the latter of which was in the middle of throwing a fit.

From beside them, Makarov rubbed at his brow. "Jose has never been a threat before," he stressed. "I didn't think it necessary to send more than the two of them, when it was for them he had asked."

Porlyusica snorted, but didn't look up from where she was busy stitching the wound in Juvia's shoulder. "That brat's always been too much trouble fer his own good," she muttered. "Was bound to have somethin' up his sleeve."

"So we thought, but I didn't think he would go _that_ far," Makarov muttered, shaking his head. Gajeel didn't know where Jose was at, but Lily and Erza had carried him out once the place had started clearing up, and when it came down to it, he didn't really care. The old man would deal with him in the way he thought best, anyway. His job was done.

"Don't move your head, you'll make it bleed again."

He sunk back into his seat, and was reminded yet again of why he was a horrible patient. The hag's kid was busy preparing the gauze and wrappings for Juvia's arm, and he'd been told to wait until it was his turn. And he wasn't about to have some newbie near his face with a needle if he could help it. It was gonna be the hag, even if she was bound to box his ears while she was at it.

"Oye, Redfox. Yer drink," Cana spoke up, pulling him out of his thoughts. He was about to answer when the cloth disappeared from his brow, and a small pale arm reached past him to take the glass. Lifting it up, Shorty gave him a small smile, before dropping the cloth back into the bowl as he took the glass from her.

"Forgetting his liquor? What's the world coming to?" she teased, but he caught the tension in her words, and his hands tightened around the drink. She fell back into silence, and he had no idea what to say or do. Nothing had gone the way he'd planned, and he found himself in a situation he hadn't even considered he'd ever have to deal with. Maybe because he'd never really had anyone specific to come back to in one piece, before her.

"What happened back there?" she asked then, voice a low murmur as she cast a glance over at Juvia across the room. Gajeel tried not to frown and make the cut start bleeding again, but it proved difficult. If Shorty had noticed, Jose's taunts had to be really getting to the woman. Castling a glance across the room, he saw that despite Makarov and Porlyusica's soft bickering, Juvia seemed almost strangely detached. She hadn't even thrown the stripper a second glance after she'd woken up, which spoke volumes of what had to be going on in her head.

"Jose dug up some shit she'd like to keep buried," he said at length, and Levy nodded, and asked no more questions. Gajeel caught Juvia's quick look then, and knew she'd heard. The gentle nod of her head was a silent thank-you for not revealing more than he had, but there was no smile on her face.

"What do you think they've done with him?" Levy asked then, as she probed the cut with cool fingers.

Gajeel was about to tell her that he didn't give a damn, but that if Erza was on it, didn't envy the bastard. He was about to tell her that, but then an idea struck him, and he went with it without a second thought. It was a pathetic attempt, but hell, maybe it'd work. He hadn't seen Juvia reach _this_ level of gloomy since serving under Jose, and wasn't about to just let her drown herself with it because the idiot had flapped his gums about a touchy subject.

So he raised his voice, just a little – enough to make sure it was heard across the space separating the two sofas – and emphasised his words so that there was no chance she'd miss them.

"Beats me. Hell, if we're lucky, he's sleepin' with the fishes. Good riddance, too – there ain't enough room in this town for two nutters."

He wasn't a touchy-feely, sentimental sap who comforted people on a regular basis. Hell, he wasn't even the kind to slap people awkwardly on the back. He'd never tried to improve his people skills, and he didn't really want to. He'd always relied on himself, even when his world had been nothing but a lonely, dark and dingy alleyway in a city too big for an abandoned street rat. He hadn't gotten comfort back then, and in the years that had passed, he'd grown out of needing it.

But even his cynical heart couldn't fight the surge of satisfaction when Juvia suddenly burst out laughing; startling the hag at her side so much that she nearly dropped her needle and she cursed up a storm as the movement caused the half-finished stitches to tear.

Gajeel grinned, and when Levy looked at him with curiosity bright in her eyes, he merely shook his head. From beside them, Cana rolled her eyes with a bemused smile on her face, but didn't press for an explanation. Which was fine, because Gajeel wasn't about to give one. Because Jose had gotten his just deserts, and Juvia was still laughing.

Raising the untouched drink to his lips, Gajeel smirked, and downed the contents without another word.

* * *

AN: Mafia puns, yo. 'Cause dead fish, and the Godfather. And notice how I gave Juvia water-powers even if she's not a mage in this story? Heck yeah, Goldfish Bowl of Righteous Fury!

Next up: Happy finally makes an appearance, and Lucy's in a bit of a fix, because you can't just drop off the map if you're the daughter of one of the city's biggest business moguls.


	25. home

AN: If you've made it this far, you know the drill: if you don't like NaLu, don't read. On another note, though, asdfghjkl; _**them reviews.** _Over 500(!), which is just plain darn amazing. I can't tell you enough how snazzy you all are – the cat's pyjamas, the lot of ya!

And apologies for the mess ffnet has caused lately; apparently a lot of people have had trouble uploading new chapters. Hopefully the problem is solved now.

Disclaimer: Fairy Tail and its characters belongs to Hiro Mashima. I own nothing.

* * *

**Chapter XXV**

"Yer...cleaning?"

Looking up from where he was stuffing a handful of mismatched objects and knick-knacks into a large chest, Natsu threw his friend a grin, not at all thrown off by the wry disbelief on Gajeel's face as he took in the state of the room.

"Something wrong with that?"

Gajeel quirked a brow. "Did I say it was? The hell are you doing it for, though? 'S long as I've know you, you've never stored any of it away," he said, motioning to the room in general, cluttered as it was with every kind of oddity under the sun. Natsu had grown up on the streets with nothing; keeping anything other than the clothes on your back had meant having to protect it from other street rats. Everything was fair game, if you could get your hands on it. He'd always had a roof over his head – if different roofs each night – but the general rule had been that you didn't _own_ anything. So when he'd finally gotten his own place – in which to keep _his own things_ – he'd taken to storing whatever he came across on his jobs. Memories, and other useless things that caught his fancy. Keeping them out and around in his flat made it feel more like home, though he had to admit there wasn't much room for keeping company, which was why Gajeel was still loitering by the front door.

And he was right – Natsu had never used to store things away. He liked his memories where he could look at them when he wanted.

"Well, uh...yeah. It's about time?"

Gajeel snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Understatement if I've ever heard one, but your beeswax's your own. What'd ya need me for?"

Dropping what he was holding into the chest, Natsu sprung to his feet, dusting his hands on his trousers with a gleeful grin. "Need your help with something, and it looked up your alley."

He was met with a sceptically raised brow. "Oh yeah?"

Natsu didn't say anything else as he walked, still grinning, into the small kitchenette, motioning for Gajeel to follow. When he entered, he waved a hand towards the object of his thoughts – and his current problem – where it was propped against the far wall. Gajeel stopped in the doorway, blinking as both brows crept towards his hairline.

"That's an engine."

"Yup."

"Why'd ya have an _engine_ in your _kitchen_?"

Natsu shrugged. "Wasn't any space left in the living room."

"Idiot."

"What?" he asked, motioning towards the thing. "I got it from the geezer's old flivver when he got that new automobile last year. Thought it could fetch some dough."

"Yeah? Then why is it still here?"

Natsu scratched the back of his head, smile turning sheepish. "Well, I kind of forgot about it."

"...it's in the middle of yer kitchen."

"So? I usually eat at the speakeasy."

"Glutton."

"Hey!"

Gajeel smirked. "Ya were askin' for it, Salamander. So ya want me ta help ya move it?"

Natsu shrugged. "Nah, not really. I was thinking you could have it."

Gajeel blinked, brows furrowing in surprise. "Me?"

"Yeah. Y'know, you like to tinker with this kind of stuff, right? When's the last time ya had an entire engine?"

Natsu could tell his friend was trying to keep his enthusiasm from showing too much, and felt his grin widen. Gajeel was notoriously horrible at accepting anything without being suspicious, so he wondered how he'd react to the gesture.

"Gonna take more than the two of us ta move it," he pointed out then, and Natsu hid a smirk at the fact that he hadn't turned the offer down.

"Yeah...I don't even remember how I got in in here to begin with. But can't you just pick it apart and take it away piece by piece?"

Gajeel gave him a look. "That's gonna take time."

"Need a new project?"

He snorted. "Got enough on my hands, thanks," he muttered, almost to himself, and Natsu crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ya could bring Levy over." At this, he got a really odd look from his friend, but ignored it. "Y'know, to keep you company? And, uh, Luce could come with you. And...I'd get some food."

There was a smile stretching across Gajeel's face that told Natsu he'd been found out, and he fidgeted under the knowing smirk. "Oho? So that's what it's all about. Well, it explains the cleaning," Gajeel said with a snort. "Ya need a chaperone, hmm?"

Natsu grimaced, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Mira said it was proper," he said, before muttering under his breath, "whatever _that_ means."

"It means she's used to having chaperones. Doesn't mean she wants one."

Natsu looked uncomfortable. "Mira said she might be more comfortable, y'know, if Levy was here, maybe? And...I was...there's.."

"Ya don't want Leo around Blondie, and Shorty needs a bodyguard."

Natsu tried to smile, but it felt awkward. "Yeah? So...will you do it?"

Gajeel looked like he wanted to laugh, but he settled for shaking his head. "I ain't back on duty, yet. Hag's orders."

"Well, what about when you're back on duty then? Hell, I'm going to need the time to fix this place up," he muttered, casting a look around his home and wondering what he had been doing these past two hours. Everything was in a heap in the far corner, and what he had moved he'd replaced with other trinkets and objects. If anything, it looked even worse than it had when he'd started.

Gajeel was silent for a moment, eyes on the engine across the room and an unreadable expression on his face. Natsu wondered what he was thinking, and what conclusion he was coming to.

"If Shorty wants to come," he said finally, shifting his gaze until he met Natsu's, "then I'll tag along." Pushing away from the door frame, he stalked across the room, before kneeling by the hunk of metal.

Natsu grinned. "Sweet! Owe ya one, Gajeel."

"Yeah, yeah, don't go getting excited – she ain't agreed to it yet."

Natsu shrugged. "I've got some books somewhere...I think. She likes those, right?"

Gajeel didn't even look up from his tinkering. "Yeah. Bit of a bookworm, that one."

"Who'd have thought you'd go for an upper class girl, anyway. Thought you hated fat cats," Natsu said as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

Gajeel snorted. "She ain't a fat cat."

"She's rich, ain't she?"

"Not anymore, she's not."

"But if the old man gets her name cleared?"

He just barely caught the way Gajeel's hands hesitated, before he tugged another part loose from the engine. He didn't reply, and Natsu wondered if he'd hit a nerve, and panicked a little that maybe he'd change his mind about getting Levy to come with him. He also wondered what he was worrying about, if that was the reason he was so silent. Levy obviously liked Fairy Tail. Lucy and Cana had talked about it – said she looked a lot happier than she had in her old home. Did he think she'd go back if she got her name cleared and her fortune back?

"Still won't make her a fat cat," Gajeel said finally, turning his head to regard Natsu with furrowed brows. "And what about you? Blondie hasn't been cast off. What happens when her old man wants her back?"

Natsu's brows furrowed. "She'd stay here."

"She tell ya that?"

"Yeah. She told me she liked Fairy Tail. Said she wanted to stay."

Gajeel snorted as he turned back to the engine. "There's a big difference between what ya want and what ya _can_ in her world," he said finally, voice a low rumble, and there was an underlying...something, there, that Natsu couldn't put his finger on.

"But if she wants, she can," he said. It was that simple.

...wasn't it?

"Her old man's Jude Heartfilia," Gajeel said, cursing under his breath softly as a loud '_thunk_' echoed through the kitchen from where one of the parts had come loose and hit the floor. Natsu just waved it off – he never used the kitchen much. And he was more preoccupied with what Gajeel was telling him, anyway.

"So? He's some business big shot, right?"

Gajeel snorted. "Not just 'some' big shot. _The_ big shot. Trumps the old man, anyway, if that puts it into a better perspective."

Natsu frowned, remembering Lucy's words from when they'd walked to the match that day; when she'd been worried about her father sending someone after her. Would he? And when? He'd told her he'd have to go through him first, and he'd meant it, although he hadn't really thought it would be such a problem. If she was happy, wouldn't he just let her stay?

"She's old enough to do what she wants," he said then, because it was the only reply he could come up with.

"Means little in her circles," Gajeel retorted. "Old man's probably got a husband waitin' for her for when she gets back 'n everything. Ya can bet yer next paycheck on that – she's an only child, ain't she? And a woman."

"The hell does being a woman have anything to do with it?"

Gajeel sighed, as though growing impatient. "In Fairy Tail? Nothing. In her world?" He let the question hang in the air, as he continued tinkering with the engine.

Natsu felt his hands twitch against his sides. It had all been so simple. He liked her, and he wanted her to stay. _She_ wanted to stay. There hadn't been a problem. But he forgot, sometimes, that she was from a different world than he was. She was from posh town – had _grown up_ in posh town, not just watched it from afar like the rest of them. He didn't known lick about what kind of life she'd led, but she was in Fairy Tail now. That had to count for _something_. That was a choice, wasn't it?

"If her old man wants her back, what'll you do?" Gajeel asked then, and Natsu looked up, brows furrowing.

"I'll protect her."

"And if she wants to go?"

"But she wants to _stay_." She'd told him so.

"_I do want to stay – more than anything!" _

"He's the only family she's got," Gajeel pointed out. "'S far as I know, and from what Makarov said. She ain't said anything bad about him, either, and from what Shorty's told me, he ain't a bad guy."

Natsu felt like he was trying to keep a piece of fraying fabric from dissolving, and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "That what makes _you_ worried?" he asked then, finally. "That she'll leave, if she gets her name cleared?" He wanted to shift the topic away from Lucy, because it was making him angry just thinking about what Gajeel was telling him.

Gajeel was silent for another long lull, the only sounds in the kitchen coming from the engine. Finally, he sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "It'll be her choice, if it happens. I can't choose for her."

Natsu frowned. "But she's your girl."

"Yeah."

"D'you think she'd want to go back?"

Gajeel was silent again, before answering, "Haven't asked. Maybe."

There was still a whole room of unanswered questions; of speculations he wasn't eager to voice out loud, and Gajeel wasn't eager to answer. He was saved the trouble by the front door opening, and he raised his head from where he'd been intently focusing on the floor, wondering who'd stopped by without knocking. It wasn't the safest neighbourhood, but even street rats kept away during the day if they knew what was good for them. And what kind of thief used the front door?

"Natsu?"

His eyes widened at the voice, and a grin stretched across his face as he turned around in the doorway, just in time to see Happy drop his bag to the floor by his feet. Removing his blue sixpence, he wiped his forehead, a wide grin tugging at his lips as he caught sight of his brother.

"Happy!"

"Hey, you're home!" The boy grinned as he dragged his bag with him, depositing it by the old sofa, only to be pulled into a crushing hug.

"Ya didn't tell me you were coming home!"

Happy made a choking noise at the back of his throat, but laughed as Natsu released him. "It took less time than I'd thought," he said with a shrug, adjusting his hat when it fell into his eyes. He threw a look around the room, brows dipping down in bemusement as he stepped into the kitchen. "Are you...cleaning?"

"Uh–"

"Hey, Gajeel! What are you doing here?"

Rising from his seat, Gajeel wiped his grease-covered hands on his trousers. "Hey, kid. Been a while – what, you grown three inches or something since I last saw ya?"

"Have I?!"

Gajeel only quirked a smile, and Natsu shook his head, but the boy was too eager to notice the exchange. "How was the job, Hap?" Natsu asked then, as Happy went for the cupboards to look for something to eat, rifling through some tins until he got his hands on something not even Natsu knew they'd had lying around.

"It was a success!" he declared around a mouthful of food, as he turned around with a grin.

"Gets his manners from you, I see," Gajeel muttered with a smirk, and Natsu ignored him. "Oye, brat – Lil's been askin' fer ya. When are you gonna join us in the Pit?"

Happy almost choked on his biscuit, and coughed. "Lily did?" he asked, when he cleared his throat, and a grimace tugged at his mouth.

Gajeel smirked. "What? Not up for it?"

"N-yes, no. Yes. I mean. It's just–"

"Leave him alone, Gajeel – he's got enough with his new job. Old man's got him on the distillery run. He doesn't have time for the ring, right Hap?"

Happy shot him a relieved look, and Natsu grinned. "Yeah, uh, that's right."

Gajeel shook his head. "Whatever you say, kid." Walking up, he grabbed a biscuit, popping it into his mouth as he leaned against the counter Happy was sitting on.

"Who're you calling a glutton again?" Natsu asked as he eyed the open tin in Happy's hands.

Gajeel shrugged. "You weren't treating your guest. What kinda host are you? You gonna bring Blondie home ta this place and not have anything ta give her?"

Happy perked up at that, just before Natsu could signal to Gajeel to shut his trap. "Blondie?" he asked, throwing a curious look towards Natsu. "Who's that?"

"Uh–"

"He's got a crush," Gajeel said then with a shrug, and Happy's eyes went round as saucers.

"Really?"

"Hey, now–"

"Cleaning the place fer her and everythin'," Gajeel added as he helped himself to another biscuit when Happy held the tin open for him.

"Oye–"

"Oho?" Happy said, before a grin spread across his face, and his eyes looked almost cat-like with their cunning. "You must really _like_ her," he teased, rolling the words around on his tongue.

Gajeel grinned. "My work here is done – I'm headin' back to Fairy Tail."

Natsu glared at him as he walked out. "Yeah, thanks for the _help_."

Gajeel threw his hand up in mock salute. "See ya later, kid. Drop by the joint and Cana'll have a drink fer ya. Job well done and all."

Happy grinned. "Will 'Blondie' be there?"

"Happy..."

Gajeel smirked. "Dunno, Salamander. Will she?" he asked, before turning and heading out the open front door. "I'll talk ta Shorty about the visit," he threw over his shoulder as he vanished from sight.

When Natsu turned back to his little brother, he had his arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face that promised nothing but trouble.

"Blondie, huh?"

* * *

"So, who was it you wanted me to meet again?"

Turing his gaze from where he'd been surveying the square, Natsu shot Lucy a smile. "Happy – he's my little brother. I told you about him, right?" Happy wasn't his brother by blood – he'd pulled him off the streets right after Makarov had taken him in. He'd had room for two, and he'd known what it was like, living alone on the streets. At first, the boy had depended on Natsu for food, but when he'd become old enough to start working for the old man, he'd started looking out for himself.

She smiled. "Yeah, you said he was out on a job for Makarov? He's back then?"

Natsu grinned as he jumped up until he was sitting on the elevated brick wall running the length of the street. Looking down at her, he titled his sixpence to shield his eyes from the evening sun, hanging low over the rooftops. "Came back this morning. And it was his first job outside the city. 'S a _big_ deal. And Extalia's pretty far, too. My first job out of town was in the capitol, and that's just a few miles away. Hap's been across the border. Geezer's expanding his connections and all that."

She smiled, tilting her head. Some of her hair escaped from the confines of her hat, though she didn't seem to notice, and it glowed golden in the sunlight. He blinked, momentarily distracted, and tried to focus on her face instead. "You're proud," she said then.

He grinned. "Well yeah! It's a big thing, and he's pretty young."

"How old is he?" she asked as she leaned her back against the wall, but didn't make any move to jump up beside him. Natsu looked down on her from where he sat.

"Sixteen."

She hummed under her breath. "Young, then."

"How old are you, Luce?"

She smiled up at him wryly from beneath the brim of her hat. "You're not supposed to ask that question of a lady, you know."

He snorted. "What? You actually really old or something?"

She nudged his knee roughly with a gloved hand in mock offense, and shook her head. A lull passed before she spoke, eyes trained on the river opposite the street. "I'm twenty."

"You're not married," he blurted before he was able to stop himself. She didn't notice the wince, though, as her gaze was firmly locked on the running water.

She grimaced. "No, I'm not."

"...were ya supposed to be?"

She looked up at him then, surprise flickering across her face, before her expression softened into something he couldn't read. "Maybe," she said then, turning back. She sighed. "I'm supposed to be a lot of things I'm not," she murmured, almost too low for him to hear.

Natsu was silent, fingers twitching against his sides; itching to do _something_. He didn't know what was "proper" in these situations, but he knew he didn't want to see her look sad, the way she did now. He couldn't see her whole face because of her hat, and he frowned, wondering if she was hiding from him.

A thought struck him then, and he went with it.

"Hey!"

He grinned, holding the hat out of her reach. She had a hand atop her head, and her hair was wild about her face as she looked up at him in bewilderment. Freed from the confines of the stupid thing, the blonde strands glowed in the warm sunlight. "Natsu, what–"

"Why'd ya always wear a hat, anyways, Luce? Your hair looks a lot nicer when it's free."

She blinked, and he almost thought he caught a blush. "Because–"

"Natsuuuuu!"

Looking up at the call of his name, Natsu waved the hand holding the hat as Happy came running down the street from the square. "Hey, Happy!"

Coming to a stop before them, Happy placed his hands on his knees to catch his breath, a grin splitting his face. "Sorry I was late! I...uh, had to post something."

Natsu frowned. "Post what?"

Lucy looked up at him, one blonde brow raised in wry amusement. "A letter? What else would you send by post?"

Happy turned his gaze on her, eyes widening with recognition as a smile stretched across his face. "Blondie?"

"_Blondie_?"

Natsu laughed. "Nah, Hap, her name's Lucy!"

"Ah! Pleased to meet you, Lucy!"

Lucy shook her head, but there was a smile on her face, "It's nice to finally meet you too, Happy," she said, and Happy blushed, scratching the back of his head.

"So who were ya sending a letter to, Hap?" Natsu asked from above them.

Happy's gaze shifted to the side. "Uh...someone. In, uh...Extalia."

"Ah, did you make a new contact?"

Happy fidgeted with one of his suspenders, and Natsu frowned, wondering why he was acting so strange. From beside him, Lucy hummed, and when he looked at her there was an odd smile on her face. "I think I know what kind of letter that was," she mused. "What's her name?"

Happy swallowed and avoided her gaze. "Her? I don't–"

"You got a _girl_, Happy?" Natsu asked, leaning down almost to the point of falling off the wall.

Happy shook his head frantically as he held up his hands. "It's nothing like that! I mean, it's not – not yet, or, well, _ever_. If, you know. She's not–" his cheeks turned very red and his fingers twitched at his sides, until he crossed his arms over his chest. "And what about _you_?" he suddenly asked, completely changing the topic.

Natsu blinked. "What about me?"

Happy threw Lucy a look, then looked back at Natsu, and was about to open his mouth again when Lucy suddenly went rigid, and made a strange noise at the back of her throat that had Natsu quirking a brow.

"Ya okay, Luce?"

"No," she whispered, but she didn't seem to be talking to him, and it was then Natsu became aware that the man who had stopped on the other side of the street from them a few minutes earlier hadn't moved. He turned his gaze towards him, and found it resting on a taller gentleman in a pinstripe suit, watching from over the rims of a pair of glasses.

"Who's that?" Happy asked, picking up on the tension. Natsu frowned, and jumped down from the wall just as the man began walking towards them. Stepping forward, he angled his body so that it covered both Happy and Lucy.

"You got a problem?" he asked, not bothering with any pleasantries, sensing that whoever he was, he meant trouble.

The man didn't smile – didn't even acknowledge that Natsu was in front of him. "Miss Lucy," he said simply, looking right past Natsu to the girl at his back.

Natsu glared, shifting so that he was right in the man's line of vision. "Oye, I asked you a question."

He still didn't so much as glance at him, but when he spoke, it was clearly to answer the question. "I am here to take Miss Lucy home."

"Did he send you?" Natsu heard Lucy ask, steel creeping into her tone, but he didn't turn from where he was standing, in case the fella took advantage of his distraction.

The man's expression didn't change. "I have my orders," was all he said, and Natsu felt Lucy stiffen behind him.

He snorted. "Sorry, but that doesn't really work for me," he declared.

"I have my orders, Miss Lucy," the man repeated, ignoring that Natsu had even spoken.

"_Oye_–"

"Natsu," Lucy cut him off, placing a hand on his elbow. When he looked at her, there was a determined expression on her face, but he could still see the worry behind her eyes. "I want to go _home_."

He'd always considered himself an impulsive person. People told him often enough that he lived more by his gut than he did his head, but then, that had always worked for him. He didn't stop to think too much – he _acted_. If he'd always second-guessed himself, he wouldn't have gotten anywhere. He wouldn't have gotten off the streets, he wouldn't have found Makarov and Fairy Tail, and he wouldn't have made it half as far as he had in the ring. He could have spent hours thinking and rethinking the things Gajeel had said earlier, about whether or not Lucy wanted to stay at Fairy Tail – wanted to stay with _him_ – if she had to make a choice between that and going back to her father.

He could have, but he didn't. Because he realized that in his current predicament, second-guessing his decision – second-guessing his _beliefs_ – could cost him just about the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"_I do want to stay – more than anything!" _

And so he went with his gut.

"C'mon, Luce," he said. Grabbing her hand, he didn't even look at the man as he brushed past him, heading in the direction of the speakeasy and tugging Lucy along behind him. He heard Happy follow in their wake, his brusque footsteps over the cobbled stones of the street betraying a nervousness he was clearly trying to hide, but Natsu wasn't listening for his friend. He was listening for the man, to see if he would follow, too. Throwing a look over his shoulder, Natsu noticed that he was simply watching them depart, although he didn't meet his eyes, focusing instead on Lucy. He didn't move from where he stood, silent against the brick wall; his shadow long against the cobblestones with the evening sun at his back.

"Natsu..."

He tightened his grip around her hand as he turned his gaze back to the street ahead of them, but he didn't look at her. Not until they'd rounded the next corner, and the following one, did he allow himself to stop and meet her gaze. She hadn't said anything for the entire walk, but there was a worried crease to her brow that didn't look right on her, and he felt like physically wiping it away. Her hair fell tousled around her face, and a thought struck him, if perhaps she'd worn the hat to hide it? Had she been recognized because of him?

There must have been something on his face, because she smiled suddenly, but it seemed forced. Unnatural. "Hey, uh, you forgot my hat," she joked, but there was a hollow sound to it that made him feel cold.

"I could go back and get it," Happy proposed from behind them, and something that looked like panic shot across Lucy's features.

"Ah, no! That's okay, Happy," she said. "Thank you, but I've got other hats back home."

"Home?"

It took him a moment to realize it had come from him, and when she looked at him, he felt like squirming under her close scrutiny. Then she smiled, and though it was far from the ones he wanted to see on her face, it was better than the one she'd given him earlier. This, at least, seemed genuine.

"Yeah," she said, and her hand tightened around his. "Fairy Tail." _Home. _"Now come on," she said, as she tugged him along. "The sun's going down, and I haven't brought a warmer jacket. And I want to get to know Happy," she said, throwing the boy a grin that made him blush.

She looked at Natsu then, when he didn't answer. "You okay?"

"_I want to go **home**." _

He nodded, and with a grin, tugged her along with him as he picked up his pace. "Yeah! C'mon, Happy – we're going home!"

"Ah, wait up!"

Lucy laughed as he pushed his pace to a light jog, and Natsu laughed with her, even when she yelled at him to slow down so she could catch her breath and that her shoes weren't made for running on cobblestones. Out of the glow of the evening sun they ventured, into the slowly dawning shadows that marked the entrance of the Alleys, until they reached the mouth of the alley that held the back-door to the speakeasy. Opening the door, he let her go in first, and ignored the worried glance Happy sent him as he followed suit.

He didn't tell her about the people who'd followed them; who, now that he'd become aware of their presence, he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed before.

"_...he'll have to go through me..."_

He had a feeling that would happen sooner than he'd thought.

* * *

AN: I was looking through old Fairy Tail chapters in preparation for Jude's entry into the story, and was not prepared for that onslaught of forgotten feels. BAUGH; LUCY.

**flivver**: old, run down car.


	26. the prodigal son

AN: Guess who's back! *throws confetti*

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXVI**

He was late.

Turning his gaze from the old clock on the wall to the empty glass in his hand, Gajeel felt his shoulders sag as he considered the prospect before him. He'd received the note calling him to Ivan's office, and knew the fella wasn't likely to be very pleased with him being intentionally late for it, but still he'd finished his drink, and made no move to be hurried about it. And then he'd spent a good five minutes looking into the glass, willing it to fill back up. But Cana was at the back doing inventory with Mira, and he wasn't risking any limbs helping himself to the hooch. The clock ticked by; the sound almost annoyingly loud amongst the soft murmurs around him. It was barely an hour past noon, but the place was far from empty, and he wasn't the only one sitting at the bar.

Unclenching his fingers from around his empty drink, Gajeel slid down from his chair, avoiding the glances of the people present as he made for the back door. It had been a week since the incident with Jose, but it would appear that he was still considered quite the spectacle. It was almost like they half-expected him to put on some kind of show any minute, with the way they were openly staring. His little "entrance" had caused quite the stir, and he'd earned himself a bit of a reputation because of it, although that hadn't really been his intention. On top of his victory against the Sabertooth brat, it had effectively pulled his name all the way out of the shadows it had crawled into during the course of the past two years. He didn't really know what he felt about that, either. Years ago he'd probably have been appropriately smug about it, but now he almost missed the time when his name didn't cause talk to break out whenever it was mentioned.

Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, he lit it as he pushed his way out the back door, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way towards posh town. The stitches on his brow were healing – and itching enough to give him a bad time – and the bandage was off, but it didn't look half as bad as it had a few days ago. The gunshot-wound was faring well, too, regardless of the kick Jose had aimed at it. The bruises were fading, and he could actually stand upright without feeling the need to sit down immediately afterwards.

Muttering to himself, Gajeel continued his way down the criss-crossing maze of alleyways. He hadn't asked about the specifics of what had happened to Jose after he'd handed him over to the old man. He didn't really care, so long as he was out of the way and done causing trouble. He had enough on his hands with one nutter – two was pushing it. If anything, he figured, the mess they'd made when they'd broken out of Jose's compound would keep his scattered thugs off their backs. Idiots or not, without the head crackpot spurring them on, Gajeel didn't think they'd risk it. Some of them were weak, but not all of them had sawdust between their ears.

Taking a long drag of his gasper, he surveyed the street ahead of him. The great clock looming above the rooftops ahead of him signalled that he was now unforgivably late, and he'd just about decided to actually pick up his pace when his eyes caught sight of another potential distraction.

He'd just made it out of the Alleys and into the central square when he caught sight of her; the blue of her hair bright against the crowd mingling around her. She was laughing, and the pervert at her elbow wore an amused smile as he listened to her talk. By the direction they were heading in, he figured they were going to the library, and he smirked, shaking his head as he turned his course so he was heading towards them. The milling crowd of the square moved wordlessly out of his way as he pushed through it.

Ivan could wait five more minutes.

He knew the lecher had seen him approach, but Levy hadn't, and his grin widened at her startled jump when he draped his arm around her shoulders. "Hey."

She made a noise of surprise, and he caught Leo shaking his head beside them. "A warning would be nice!" she chided then, but there was laughter in her voice, and she tilted her head to look up at him from under the brim of her sunny-yellow hat. Then she scrunched her nose up, distaste written clear across her face, and a gloved hand reached up to push his face away. "Eck, you _smell_."

He snorted, but let the cigarette drop to the ground, and before he could even think about what he was actually doing, he'd already stepped on it. He didn't get a chance to complain, though, before her resulting smile distracted him enough to forget.

"Good boy, Redfox," Leo purred from beside them, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, and Gajeel growled, ready to tell him off when Levy beat him to it.

"Don't point fingers, Loke – I know you don't smoke in front of Lucy."

Her escort blinked at her lightly chiding words, and then shifted his gaze to something at the opposite end of the square. "Yes, well..."

Gajeel smirked, and tightened his arm around Levy's shoulders, revelling silently in the scandalous mutters from some of the women mingling around them. Usually he didn't give a flying monkey what anyone thought when they looked at him, but now he couldn't help his morbid curiosity when it hit him. There was the three of them – Levy was easily pegged as upper classed with those rags, and with his sense of dress and manners Leo could have pulled off being her date without anyone batting an eyelash. And even if Gajeel was dressed in his best, as Ivan expected, his shirt was still only partly tucked into his trousers, and his jacket was loose, exposing his suspenders. He hadn't bothered putting on his tie yet, either, so the top buttons of his shirt were open. Had they been doing anything else, people might have thought he'd just run into them and was giving them trouble.

But there was the unavoidable fact that Leo was standing at an appropriate distance, whereas Gajeel was effectively trampling on any and every social boundary imaginable. Next to Levy in her white dress and yellow hat, he had to look like some sort of alley rat that she'd somehow deigned worthy to put his hands on her. The fact that he did, in fact, have his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of intimacy that was enough to give posh town's prissy residents a collective heart attack, had to be quite the sight. Half the women who passed them by threw him ugly looks, but he met their gazes unflinchingly and with a challenging tilt to his chin. Levy didn't even seem to notice the stares, and the fact made him straighten a little, feeling oddly smug. Leo only shook his head, an odd smile on his face, and Gajeel glared at him, before turning his attention back to the girl beside him.

"You going to the library?"

Her smile was bright as the sun as she grinned up at him. "Is it that obvious?"

He only raised a brow, meeting Leo's amused look. "She being a hassle?"

"Hey!"

Gajeel grinned, ignoring her protests, and Leo laughed. "Miss Levy has been nothing but good company," he said with a small bow of his head.

Gajeel snorted. "The hell did ya do to get her to act like that? When I was watchin' her she was going out of her way ta make things difficult for me."

"Oh,_ I_ made things difficult for _you_?" Levy exclaimed, pursing her lips in playful indignation as she nudged his side. "I seem to remember that _you_ were the biggest hassle. I was the one to had to propose a truce!"

He grinned. "Had ta see if you were worth yer salt," he said with a shrug. "If ya'd been too posh fer me ta handle, I'd have shipped ya off on someone else the next day."

"You say that as you though were _my_ ideal pick for an escort."

Gajeel gave Loke a sly look. "Well, ya got what ya wanted in the end, didn't ya?"

She nudged his side again – his uninjured one. "Don't be cheeky – I might get ideas."

"Oh yeah?" he challenged.

She turned her nose up. "I quite like Loke, and we get along well together. You should watch it, or I might just want to keep him." She couldn't have hid her smile if she'd tried, and Gajeel snorted.

"Gotta become a better liar before ya'd make me believe _that,_ Shorty."

She pursed her lips. "You're no fun."

"I ain't paid ta be–"

The clock overlooking the square chose that moment to remind him that he was treading on dangerous territory, keeping Ivan waiting. With a grumble, he released her shoulders. "I need ta head uptown," he said, letting his hand brush against the bare patch of skin at her collar, and she looked a little disappointed.

"Oh."

He smirked, and deciding that if he was going to cause a scandal he might as well do it properly, he caught her chin with his hand, pulling her in for a kiss before she had a chance to protest. She laughed against his mouth, and slapped his chest playfully.

"Public!" she hissed when he pulled back, her cheeks tinted with colour, and he grinned wickedly, noting that despite her protests, she was smiling.

"Better get used to it," he rumbled as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Sharing a significant look with Leo, who looked too damn amused for his own good, Gajeel raised his hand in a casual salute. "See ya later. Keep her out of trouble, yeah?"

Leo smirked and nodded and Levy rolled her eyes, but he caught the tightening of the skin at the corners of her mouth. No doubt she'd picked up on what 'heading uptown' meant; she knew him well enough to know that he didn't willingly go to that part of Magnolia unless he had a good reason to.

And a psychopathic boss was a pretty damn good reason.

Turning on his heel, he headed back the way he had come, eyes on the looming building in the distance that held Ivan's office. Fumbling around in his pockets, he searched for another cigarette, only to realise that the one he had stomped out had been his last. "Damn it!" Grumbling to himself, he shoved his hands even further into his pockets. Now he had to go through a meeting with the loon with a craving. Pulling his rumpled tie out of his pocket, he set about fastening it, grumbling to himself as he buttoned his shirt. Even if Makarov never shut up about him leaving his shirt untucked, he'd never gone so far as to demand how Gajeel dressed. But then he was the kind of boss who allowed his employees to be themselves, even if half of them were alley rats.

It didn't take him long to reach his destination, and he stomped up the stairs with as much reluctance as he could muster. The tapestry was still ugly as _death_, and the glaring face of Ivan's secretary didn't do his mood any favours. Upon his entrance, Flare looked up above the rims of the cheaters perched on her nose.

"You're _late."_

He snorted. "What are ya, paid to state the obvious?" He nodded towards the corridor. "He still in?"

"Mr. Dreyar has been waiting in his office for the past hour," Flare retorted with a clipped tone, nudging her head in the direction of the office. "I trust you can find your way."

Gajeel sneered at her. "I don't need my hand held, if that's what yer askin'."

She sniffed. "Good. I don't make it a habit touching dirt off the streets, anyway." Meeting his glare with one of her own, it was like she dared him to make another comment. Lifting a hand, she adjusted her glasses, pushing them further up on her nose. Gajeel's brows furrowed as his gaze caught the violent purple bruise covering her wrist when the sleeve of her blouse slid down.

She noticed the stare, and started, pulling her sleeve back up and hiding her arm behind her desk. "Keep your eyes to yourself!" she snapped. But now that he'd been made aware of it, the next thing he noticed was the fading, yellow-green sheen by her temple that she hadn't been able to hide with her hair, as well as a healing cut on her lip that looked too severe for her to have done it to herself.

"You are keeping Mr. Dreyar," she ground out then, and his eyes left her temple to meet her furious glare. She fidgeted with the pens at her desk, hands clenching against the rich wooden surface, but she seemed more embarrassed than anything else.

He said nothing as he turned on his heel, but he felt her eyes follow him as he turned the corner down the corridor leading to Ivan's office. He'd been pretty peeved before he'd walked in, but now...now he didn't even know what he felt. It wasn't sympathy – it couldn't be. Not for a woman who'd done nothing but treat him like dirt since the day he'd walked in to find her behind the desk in the reception. Hell no. He grumbled to himself, and shook the thought away. Her beeswax was her own, and not for him to stick his nose into. Working for Ivan wasn't just a hazard for those who fought in the ring for him or worked as his errand boys; she had to have known that when she'd accepted the position, especially if she wasn't just a run-of-the-mill secretary.

Still, even if she was annoying as hell, he wondered what she'd done to earn it.

The overly-elaborate doors loomed before him, but he didn't pause before pushing them open. Knocking would only be considered an insult now, with how late he was. At least Ivan would take it as an insult – Gajeel knew him well enough to know _that_. And he was already on his bad side, so he wasn't about to push his luck too much.

"Ah, Gajeel. How kind of you to join us."

The tone was pleasant enough – anyone could have mistaken it for the polite kindness it mocked – but Gajeel heard the underlying note of irritation and anger. He also noticed the 'us', but by the time the thought had settled he'd already caught sight of Laxus sitting in one of the two chairs in front of Ivan's overly elaborate desk. The blonde man looked up from his drink upon Gajeel's entry, and nodded once, acknowledging his presence but letting nothing else slip.

Gajeel smirked. "The prodigal son's returned, huh?" he asked as he took a seat himself, trying not to slouch as it made his midsection smart. He wasn't offered a drink, although the crystal decanter sat invitingly on Ivan's desk next to an empty glass. The significance of the gesture smarted like a physical slap, but Gajeel ignored it.

"Yes," Ivan said, fingers pressed together in front of his face as he quirked an odd smile. "An interesting analogy, but fitting, I suppose."

Gajeel said nothing to that, but shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. The room was too warm and his new shirt itched, and he clenched his fingers against the arms of his chair to stifle the urge to loosen his tie.

"Were you delayed, Gajeel?" Ivan asked then, as he refilled his own glass, and the scent of quality liquor hit his nose as it mingled with the ice in the glass. Gajeel resisted the urge to glare.

"Ran into someone in the square," he said instead, meeting Ivan's challenging stare with his own.

"Must have been someone interesting, to keep you so long."

"Not really. Was one of the geezer's brats, askin' questions." He shrugged. "Had to keep up appearances."

Ivan's smile was slow and forced. "Indeed."

Gajeel didn't say anything else, and didn't glance over at Laxus where he sat, equally silent beside him. As expected, he played his role flawlessly, but then for a guy who kept a straight face in most situations, that didn't really surprise him. He wanted to ask why he'd been called in, but figured he'd let the nutter take his time. He knew he was being punished for taking his own time in coming over, and he pushed his impatience down as he focused his attention on an especially ugly painting at the far end of the room.

Finally, after taking his sweet time inspecting his crystal tumbler, Ivan turned his attention back to Laxus and Gajeel; a strange smile on his face that had the hairs on the back of Gajeel's neck stand out. "So, I imagine you're curious as to why I've called you here...Gajeel."

"I'm guessing it's something important," he said, trying not to be cheeky. One wrong word, and being refused a drink would seem like a joke compared to what the man would dish out.

Ivan smirked. "You guess correctly," he said smoothly, placing his glass down before him as he laced his fingers in front of his face. "I'm going to assume you're not so close to Makarov that you know of his plans?"

Something about the way he said it had something heavy drop into the pit of his stomach, but Gajeel merely shrugged. "That would depend on what it is."

Ivan smiled, and gestured to Laxus. "Why don't you tell him, my boy."

His expression didn't so much as twitch, but Gajeel saw Laxus' fingers tighten around the glass in his hand. On the surface, though, he was as aloof as ever, and Gajeel figured Ivan didn't know his son well enough to read his reactions. The 'my boy' had to have the same effect on him as it did on Gajeel – probably even more so, considering the fact that he was even closer to Makarov.

"The geezer is going to name me heir," he said then, at length, meeting Gajeel's gaze. "To the company...and the speakeasy."

"The old man knows his time is running out," Ivan cut in before Gajeel could speak, his tone smug. "And it is, especially now that Laxus here will be announced the sole heir. Once it's in the will, I won't have to wait any longer. I'll have both the company and the speakeasy under one Dreyar, at long last. And Laxus will be made heir to the lot." He grinned, spreading his hands. "The way it is meant to be. Makarov is old news in this town; it's time for the new generation to take over from the old..."

Gajeel said nothing as Ivan went on about his new empire, only smirked and nodded at appropriate moments. All the while dread was settling further and further down into his stomach, until he felt sick. Did the old man know about his plans? It was hard to tell from looking at Laxus. Other that the tense set to his shoulders, there was nothing that suggested the news upset him. Gajeel would have to ask him later. Either way, if they told him, what good would it do? If Makarov didn't announce Laxus heir, Ivan would know something was up; or that someone had leaked the information. But if he _did_ declare Laxus as the sole heir to the company and the speakeasy, he would be painting a target at the back of his head. Like Ivan had said – he wouldn't have to wait any longer.

"So, Gajeel. Any news from your side of town? I heard you had a rather...unfortunate run-in, was it last week?"

Gajeel didn't bother point out that Ivan probably knew every single detail, down to the hour of his meeting with Jose, and shrugged. "Smoked out some rats," he said simply.

Ivan's smile was somewhere between pleased and amused. "I'd like to say 'good job', though it was on no order from me. Regardless, Jose Porla has been a bit of a..._nuisance_. His removal has been most fortunate."

Gajeel merely smirked, but offered no comment to Ivan's obvious gloating. He wondered how many of Jose's goons were now on Ivan's payroll, and wondered if the loon's removal had been quite as 'fortunate' for the rest of the city. For Makarov, it could prove to be an even worse alternative to having Jose plotting his schemes in his dark hole of the Alleys. Of course, it wasn't through any fault of theirs that he'd gone off his nuts in the end. That was his own doing, and it would have been a bigger problem to just leave him after they'd blasted their way out of his lair. They'd done what had been the best option at the time, but in the end, they'd simply rid the city of a mongrel whose bark was worse than his bite. Their biggest problem yet was sitting in front of him, fingers laced in front of his face and a slow smile curling his lips. Gajeel tried not to grimace at the sight.

"Have you been in the ring since your success?" Ivan asked then, once again keeping up the appearance of ignorance. Gajeel bristled, but kept himself from showing what he was thinking.

"Nah," he said simply. "Took some bad hits, and then I got this pretty present," he said, motioning to his brow.

Ivan hummed. "Perhaps you should get something scheduled, once you've healed? The club Makarov's brats fight for has been rising in the ranks, lately. You know the one – owned by that jigaboo, what's his name?"

Gajeel felt his hands tighten around the arms of his chair, but forced himself to keep calm. "Lily," he ground out, even when he tried to keep his voice from betraying his mood.

"Ah, that's it. You know him, yes? It used to be just a run-down club, but it seems I've got to watch out for him now. He's making quite the name for himself."

Gajeel tried to keep his expression neutral as Ivan spoke, even as he felt sick to his stomach. Nothing was off limits in this town, it seemed, if it caught his fancy. Jose would have no doubt learnt that the hard way, if Gajeel and Juvia hadn't taken him out. Lily knew what business he was meddling with, but it still rankled him that Ivan seemed to consider everything his turf and anyone who tried to move in on it as opponents that had to be taken down. He hadn't managed with Sabertooth yet, because when it came down to it Gemma's girl could no doubt hold her own against him. But Lily didn't have a company to fall back on, and he was black, and that was never an advantage in Magnolia, or anywhere else in Fiore.

He caught Laxus' quick look out of the corner of his eye, but didn't so much as twitch. And all the while, Ivan regarded them with that smile on his face. It was the deceiving smile he showed the press whenever they printed a story on him; the one that made him out to be the best goddamn fella that had ever graced Magnolia with his presence. But Gajeel had seen the man behind the smile enough to not be fooled by the façade. There was a darkness behind those grinning eyes, and a ruthless cunning that had earned him his place in the business world. The same cunning that could, if they didn't intervene soon, bring him all the way to the top.

The thought brought him back to their earlier conversation, about his plan to take Makarov's company. Questions lurked at the back of his mind, but in order to have them answered he had to think carefully about how he voiced them. And tact wasn't exactly his forte.

Laxus surprised him then, by speaking up. "What exactly do you plan to do with the old man?" It was a surprisingly blunt question, asked to a man like Ivan who was notorious for beating around the bush, but then it came from Laxus, and in that respect, he didn't take after his old man.

Ivan turned his gaze on his son, his smile indulgent. "That's not for you to worry about, my boy. If you're to take over the company, you won't be involved with that. You need a clean name to make it in the business world."

The intention behind his reluctance was clear; he wasn't discussing his plans in front of Gajeel. And if he was serious about not telling Laxus, they had a problem. They could warn Makarov all they wanted; if they didn't know what Ivan would do, it wouldn't change anything. What they did know was that if Laxus was legally recognized as heir, the city wouldn't find it odd that Makarov's company passed on to him in the event of his death. And if Laxus handed the company over to his father, no one would probably even bat an eyelash. He was young, yet, and Ivan was a seasoned businessman. It made sense that he should shoulder the brunt of the company and the Dreyar name. It was like being on a train heading straight towards an impending crash, and knowing full well what was about to happen, but nothing about what they could do to stop it.

One thing was certain, though, even with all the unanswered questions.

They were running out of time.

* * *

It was evening when they were finally allowed to leave, no doubt courtesy of Gajeel's earlier tardiness.

Laxus didn't mention it, though, as they walked together out of Ivan's office and through the reception. Flare didn't even spare them a glance as they left, an they walked in silence until they'd passed well out of posh town and into the main square. The sun had dipped down behind the rooftops of the inner city, and people were getting ready to hit the town. The street corners bustled with busy restaurants and people dressed in their finest glad-rags, but the more happy smiles he saw the more Gajeel's mood dropped.

Once they'd passed safely into the narrow, curving streets of the Alleys, he finally spoke up. "Ya sure the nutter didn't tell ya anything about the old man's removal?" he kept his voice low as they walked, and kept his eyes on their surroundings. "I get it if he didn't want ta say anything in front of me; I'm still on probation. But he trusts you, right?"

Laxus sighed, and shook his head. He looked weary, and had his hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his coat. "He's keeping his cards close to this chest," he said at length, giving Gajeel a significant look. "He means for it to go smoothly, and then I can't be involved. There's also the fact that I'm close with the old man – that doesn't sit too well with him." He shook his head, and Gajeel heard the underlying irony. Laxus' close relationship with his grandfather was what would make him the sole heir of Makarov's company, and yet Ivan was clearly jealous about the relationship. Gajeel wasn't even going to pretend he understood what bothered the loon the most – that his own son had the relationship he should have had with his father, or that his father seemed to prefer his grandson over Ivan himself.

"He's planning ahead," Laxus said then, as they rounded a corner.

Gajeel said nothing to that, but his hands clenched within the pockets of his trousers. He heard what the blonde man was implying; the further ahead Ivan planned, Makarov had to keep up and be yet another step ahead. It had to be wearing at him to constantly keep up with his lunatic son, and Gajeel wondered how much more he could take before it became too much for him to handle. Tension had been brewing for years between their companies, but it looked like it was heading towards a culmination.

And Gajeel didn't know if they were prepared for it. Whatever Ivan chose to do, it wouldn't be anything good. And by keeping his plans secret from both him and Laxus, the old man had to pull some pretty amazing tricks out of his sleeve to keep himself informed and stay ahead. For the first time in a long time, Gajeel felt somewhat redundant. He'd known when he'd accepted the job that it wouldn't be easy, working for two different men and keeping both informed without keeping them too informed, but this was the first time he'd ever felt _useless_. He had nothing to give the old man but what he already knew – that Ivan was planning on taking him down. The _why_ was a given – it was the _how_ and _when_ they needed.

One good thing he figured he could take from the meeting was that Ivan seemed to have given up on Levy, at least for the moment. Although the fact that he was focusing all his attention on taking down his father probably wasn't any better.

He needed a drink. A strong one, preferably, after spending so long in Ivan's company. Even Cana could dig up some sympathy for him, knowing full well what kind of business Ivan ran from her time playing her father's dutiful daughter. He wondered if Levy would be averse to keep him company without the entire guild hovering around them. They could probably use one of the lounges, and the mood would definitely be better than it had the last time he'd pulled her into one; the night his job had taken a turn from 'complicated' to 'are you bloody _kidding_ me'. A tired smile tugged his mouth upward at the prospect, and his spirits finally lifted a little as they trudged down the last streets leading to the speakeasy.

It was almost dark when they arrived, heading in the back as the front was no doubt still in use for customers. There wasn't any music playing when they opened the door, though, and the voices drifting back from the common room were frantic and edgy rather than good humoured and slurring with inebriation. Gajeel shared a look with Laxus, before pushing through the door and stepping into the open room.

Upon their entrance, several pairs of eyes turned their way. From what it appeared, only Makarov's people were present, and most of them were gathered around a worried-looking Leo. Cana had him by the collar, and seemed to have been in the middle of yelling his ear off when they'd entered from outside. It was Blondie who spoke up first, though, catching sight of them and meeting Gajeel's eyes with her own, wide and troubled ones. And he knew what she was about to say before the words even left her mouth.

"Someone's taken Levy!"

* * *

AN: DUN-DUN...! What is this, my second cliffhanger this week? ...I'm not sorry.

**gasper**: cigarette

**cheaters**: eye glasses

**jigaboo**: derogatory term for an African-American


	27. kidnapped

AN: I've got to say I've had an amusing few days since I posted the last chapter and got all your responses. I HAVE NO REGRETS, fufu.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXVII**

"He'll be fine."

She hummed, only partly convinced, as she watched Gajeel's shape disappear amongst the crowd of people milling about the square. As he towered over most of them, she'd followed him with her eyes until he'd rounded the corner of the street running down alongside the river, heading into the heart of the inner city – or "uptown" as he'd called it. She knew what he'd meant; had caught the implication, and worry had been gnawing at her ever since.

"I don't like it."

"He's been dealing with him for over two years," Loke reminded her, coming up to stand at her shoulder, but his words did nothing to alleviate her anxiety. Fiddling with the hem of her skirt, Levy kept her eyes on the corner he'd rounded, willing him to come walking back.

Loke didn't say anything more; not even to remind her that they should head to the library if she wanted the time he'd no doubt come to know she needed. Instead he remained beside her, until she nodded, smoothing her hands against the fabric of her dress. Looking up at him, she tried a confident smile. "We should get going."

He nodded, and stepped out of the way, motioning for her to take the lead. She rolled her eyes at the overly elaborate gesture, but returning the grin with one of her own. She hadn't been lying when she'd said she liked Loke. Despite Gajeel's initial reluctance, she'd come to realize that though an incurable flirt and a skirt-chaser, he was well-mannered and intelligent, and always up for a good conversation. He treated her like a lady, but without making her feel like a child; he managed to be polite without coming off as patronising. It was something from which most of the men of her previous circles could take some notes. Cana would no doubt argue that his philandering ways was a contradiction to treating women _well,_ but though she'd seen him chase girls, Levy had never seem him be disrespectful. He was also patient – a concept of which her previous escort didn't seem to even know the definition. Of course, if she was honest with herself, she rather missed Gajeel's brash attitude. If it came down to it, Loke was no doubt the most suitable bodyguard, but if she got to choose, she'd take Gajeel back in a heartbeat.

Because although Loke was calm and polite, there was something to be said about a man who'd willingly teach a woman to shoot a gun.

She smiled to herself, feeling her spirits brighten a little. He would be _fine_ – she knew that. She didn't feel like she was needlessly worried, considering the situation, but she had to remind herself that he'd gotten out of pretty tough fixes in the past. After everything she'd seen of him so far, it would be considered an insult to be concerned for his ability to take care of himself. She didn't even need him to tell her that to know it was true. But it didn't completely remove the seed of worry that had taken root. Ivan Dreyar had already taken one person she hadn't thought she could live without – she didn't think she could take it if she lost Gajeel.

"Your face is quite expressive, Miss Levy," Loke spoke up then, amusement colouring his voice, and she looked up him, startled out of her thoughts, before a genuine smile tugged at her lips.

"And here I thought a lady's thoughts were supposed to be her own."

He grinned, tipping his hat. "Unless the lady wishes to share?"

Levy laughed. "She does not," she said, turning her gaze to the cobblestones below their feet. "It's personal."

Loke hummed. "Ah, well to that, I can relate, and I won't pry. But I'd like to assure you that I only tell if I kiss first. All other things I keep to myself," he said with a wink.

"You're incorrigible, aren't you?" she asked, but she couldn't keep from smiling.

He shrugged. "We all have our vices," he said simply. "The important thing is finding someone who accepts them, along with the rest," he added, giving a suave gesture that indicated to the whole of himself. Levy tilted her head as she looked up at him, and he raised a brow at her expression, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "What, surprised a vagabond like me can conjure something other than simple flattery?"

She laughed. "Honestly? Maybe a little, but then that's _my_ vice, I guess. I shouldn't judge people on hearsay and first impressions."

His resulting smile was oddly knowing. "I'd say you've gotten far, judging by what I heard about your first encounter with Gajeel Redfox."

She raised a bow. "And what have you heard, if I may ask?"

"Cana may have mentioned a few things," he said, intentionally vague, and he grinned when she pursed her lips. "You two have been quite the source of entertainment these past weeks, you should know."

"So I've been told," she said dryly.

Loke grinned. "Don't expect to be left alone quite yet – you've still go quite a distance to go before the novelty wears off."

"Gajeel will be _so_ pleased to hear that," she mused.

Loke was silent a moment, and she looked up at him, curious. He returned her quizzical look with a raised brow of his own. "How long do you propose to stay?" he asked then. "If I may be so bold as to ask."

She smiled. "You may," she said. "And to answer your question...I have nowhere to go, so unless another option presents itself, I'm dependent on Mr. Makarov's protection."

"And if another option does present itself? If your name is cleared?"

She said nothing for a moment, letting the question hang between them, and she wondered suddenly when the answer had stopped being clear. When Makarov had first taken her in, she'd been so determined it should just be a temporary thing, until she got back on her feet and cleared her family's name. She'd take her father's company back somehow, and go back to her old life as the remaining McGarden. It had all been so simple. Now...now she didn't even think she wanted to go back to her old life, or if she even _could_, if given the chance. After she'd seen all she had, would she give it all up for the sake of her father's legacy?

Would she give Gajeel up?

"Hell-_o_," came the appreciative murmur from beside her then, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she refrained from rolling her eyes as Loke's attention was momentarily seized by a trio of pretty girls passing them by. It wasn't so surprising, their raised hemlines taken into consideration, revealing a good eyeful of leg. One of them blinked her eyes prettily as they passed – the look clearly directed at Loke, who followed the gaze with his own eager leer.

And it was in that exact moment of inattention that Levy felt a gloved hand close around one of hers, followed by a sharp tug, and before she'd even had a chance to exclaim her surprise vocally, she'd been swallowed by the crowd. Vision obscured by frocks and suits and hats, she lost sight of both Loke and where she was; all she could seem to focus on was the hand gripping hers, and a vague shape in front of her weaving in and out of the crowd like a shadow in daylight. It was like the people around them couldn't even see them, and she hardly even bumped into anyone as she was dragged away from her bodyguard. And had she not been quite so taken aback by the entire ordeal, she might have made a sound, or struggled to get away, but as it was she was quite befuddled.

Finally, the person holding onto her hand tugged her out of the crowd and into a side-street, whirling her around, and her mind hadn't even caught up with what had happened when she came face to face with a pair of smiling blue eyes, framed by a head of deep blue hair snugly fitted into a navy cloche hat.

"J-Juvia?!"

The woman before her grinned warmly. "Hello!"

Levy blinked, even more confused than ever, and looked down at the gloved hand still holding hers, and it was in that moment her mind fully caught up with what had just happened. "W-What are you _doing_?"

Juvia tilted her head to the side. "Juvia is kidnapping Miss Levy for the day," she declared, as calmly as she would have announced they were having tea and cakes.

"Huh?"

She grinned, and Levy saw that the cuts that had marred her face the last time she'd seen her had mostly healed; the only really noticeable injury being the dark line that marked a healing cut on her lower lip. Levy also knew she was recovering from taking a bullet to the shoulder, but the wound didn't seem to hinder her movement in the least. It was hard, sometimes, to remember that this was the woman Gajeel had claimed had taken out three of the five men that had apprehended them during their meeting with the Alley's biggest crime lord. And if she hadn't known full well that Gajeel would never have praised someone else's accomplishments unless they were true, she would have found it hard to believe the pretty woman in front of her capable of wielding a blade like, as Gajeel had so eloquently put it, 'a screaming banshee completely off her nuts'.

"Juvia is kidnapping Miss Levy, if she doesn't mind overly much," Juvia said then, when Levy had been silent a little too long; emphasising her words as though talking to a child. With a smile, she squeezed the hand she was still holding, and Levy looked at them, and then at her face, and then she decided that Gajeel had been absolutely right when he'd said she was 'hella weird'.

But she was also one of the more interesting people Levy had met in Fairy Tail, and knowing her capabilities, going off with her alone didn't seem like such an awful idea. The thought pushed past the surprise and the confusion, and with a grin, she tightened her fingers around Juvia's hand in return.

"Sure, why not?"

Juvia's smile widened, "Juvia is glad!" she exclaimed, and Levy caught an undecipherable expression as it briefly flashed across her face; if she hadn't known better she'd have said it was relief. She didn't have time to ponder the thought much before the strange woman suddenly tugged her towards her and linked their elbows.

Levy laughed, adjusting her hat that had gone a bit askew. "What about Loke?" she asked, craning her neck to see how far they'd gone from the square.

Juvia waved her off as she began walking, out of the side-street and down the main street towards the shopping district and in the opposite direction of the city square. "Mr. Loke will manage," she said simply, with a wink. "Juvia will make sure Miss Levy is safe," she declared, as she steered them down the street.

"You can call me Levy, you know," Levy said, as they pushed through the crowd with an ease she found mildly unnerving. It wasn't surprising Juvia had managed to get her away from Loke unnoticed if she could manoeuvre through a crowd like _this_.

"Levy," Juvia said, with a nod. "Would Levy like to see the shops with Juvia?"

It struck her then, almost violently, that she couldn't even remember the last time she'd gone out browsing in shops for fun. When her life had been turned on its head, it had become one of those things she'd _used_ to do, in a different time when she was Levy _McGarden_, and not some deprived heiress with a tarnished name and questionable associates. And these days, other than her outings with Loke, she did spend a good deal of time cooped up at the speakeasy. Lucy was busy with Natsu, and though she enjoyed the company of everyone in Fairy Tail, it had been a long time since she'd just acted her age with other girls her age.

She grinned up at the woman whose elbow was linked with hers. "I would love to!"

Juvia beamed from beside her, looking quite pleased, and Levy found that perhaps expanding her range of friends wasn't such a bad idea.

And so the afternoon passed, moving from store to store, browsing and talking, about everything from hats and the latest fashion in dresses, to romantic novels, as well as a good deal about a certain Mr. Gray Fullbuster that Levy had met on a few occasions, and who had seemingly won the heart and affection of one of the deadliest hired guns in the city shadows. But there was little that reminded Levy of a gangster's moll when Juvia talked about her respect and admiration for the man – accompanied by a good deal of ardent gesturing, blushing cheeks and dreamy sighs that was a little at odds with the reputation that preceded her.

Levy laughed and chatted along with her, all the while marvelling at the people the Alleys could produce from its shadows. Some of them were certainly a lot more interesting than the ones she'd grown up with. For all intents and purposes, the woman beside her looked like she was from Levy's old circles – dressed impeccably, and with a fashionable umbrella dangling from the crook of her arm. Levy wouldn't have found a fault with the ensemble if she'd met her on the street. And if it wasn't for the fact that she'd seen Juvia polish the deadly blade the umbrella so neatly contained, she'd have thought her completely unarmed. Of course, she should have learned by now not to judge people by their appearance alone. Gajeel had taught her that much.

Finally, while they were having tea and cakes at a place Levy hadn't even known existed, hidden away in a small side-street off the main shopping street, Juvia finally shifted the subject. Turning a cunning pair of blue eyes on her from across the table and the steaming teacup below her nose, Levy knew what was coming before she'd even opened her mouth.

"Juvia would just like to say she is glad Gajeel has met Levy."

She blinked, the piece of cake halfway to her mouth forgotten as she stared at the woman across from her. She'd expected a teasing remark – or even a plea for some gossip regarding the man himself. Anything but the simple but honest admission that had just left her lips.

But then again, Juvia wasn't Cana or Mira, or even Lucy, and it struck Levy then that she was probably more concerned with Gajeel's well-being than his romantic affairs.

She returned the smile. "Well, I'm glad I met _him_," she said, because she couldn't think of a better response, or one that better conveyed her feelings on that subject. It wasn't even scratching the surface of what she thought about that, but she hadn't even come fully to terms with that herself yet, and didn't even know where to begin to explain it to someone else.

But Juvia didn't seem to need anything else, and appeared to find the answer more than acceptable. But then here was a woman who'd placed her heart into the hands of a man who treated her more like a colleague than a potential love interest. Even though she wasn't guaranteed having her affections returned, she didn't shy from her feelings, and Levy found the trait strangely admirable.

"Gajeel is happy," Juvia said then, her eyes drifting to the scenery outside the window – the rusty brick wall across the curving, cobbled street, and the softly swinging shop-sign of the dressmaker opposite. She smiled, as though at something only she could see. "Juvia can tell. After Levy came to Fairy Tail, Gajeel changed."

"He's still insufferable," Levy added dryly.

Juvia grinned as her gaze turned back from the street to regard her from across the table. "Yes, but Juvia doubts _that_ will ever change."

"He is a good man, despite it," Levy agreed, picking at her piece of cake with her fork. "Even if he doesn't want to admit it."

"Gajeel has not always done good things."

Levy looked up from her cake, and her eyes softened as she caught the guarded look on Juvia's face. She caught the connection easily enough – she wasn't referring solely to Gajeel. "No, he hasn't, but he's not doing bad things anymore," she said at length, letting the words fall heavily between them. She hoped her gaze could convey what her speech could not. She'd heard only snippets from different people about the woman sitting across the table from her, and though most were about her abilities or her odd nature, she'd also heard rumours she figured Juvia didn't like very much. It didn't bother Levy – everyone had something to hide, and she wasn't about to point fingers – but she wondered how much it bothered Juvia herself.

"Levy puts a lot of trust in Gajeel," Juvia said then, and the implication was so pronounced, Levy had to have been deaf not to have caught it. Not just anyone would have willingly and without question allowed themselves to be kidnapped by someone who had a reputation for ruthlessness and who had, as the rumours went, more blood on her hands than any of Makarov's men and women combined.

Levy shrugged, and calmly cut off a piece of her cake. "Trust is earned," she said then, as she pushed it around on her plate, before sticking her fork into it. She lifted her gaze. "And he hasn't given me any reason not to trust him." Again, there was a silent communication between them.

Juvia smiled, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Juvia is glad," she said, finally, the simple admission feeling like a conclusion of sorts. An understanding, passing between two very different women in two equally different situations, but an understanding regardless.

Levy returned the smile, and a comfortable silence settled between them as they enjoyed their respective treats.

Evening was closing in by the time they started making their way back to the speakeasy, and as they made their way across the square, Juvia suddenly steered them into one of the many quiet side-streets she seemed to have an infinite knowledge of. Levy didn't protest, and watched with curiously raised brows as her companion checked the area for unwanted company, before turning back to her with a smile.

"Juvia has something for Levy," she said then, and before Levy could ask, something heavy and wrapped in a soft piece of cloth was pressed into her hands. She looked down at the bundle, already recognizing the shape of the concealed object from her time practising with Gajeel. She looked up at Juvia, genuinely surprised.

"For me?"

Juvia nodded. "Juvia knows Gajeel has been teaching Levy," she said with a shrug. "Juvia figured Levy would need one of her own, if her practice should ever be put to the test."

There was an ominous note to her words, and Levy's grip tightened involuntarily around the small gun now in her possession. Although heavy, it was much lighter than the one Gajeel had dug up for her to practice with, and though still foreign, the feel of it also felt strangely _right_.

Juvia's smile turned sly then. "And it'll be more useful than the knife Levy was hiding, when she first met Juvia."

Levy blushed, remembering how easily she'd noticed. "Well, I figured _something_ was better that nothing."

"And now Levy has something she can _use_."

Levy looked down at the bundle again, a smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah," she said, her smile widening as she met Juvia's eager gaze. "Thank you, Juvia."

She shrugged, but looked pleased that her gift had been accepted. "Juvia wants Levy to be safe," she said. "Not just for Gajeel's sake – for Levy's sake, too. Juvia has not had many friends before Makarov took her in. Juvia is glad _she_ met Levy."

Levy grinned, and pocketed the gun in the small bag slung around her shoulders. Linking her arm with the bluenette, she turned in the direction of Fairy Tail, discovering not without a small twinge of pride that she was aware of where they were. "I've had fun today," she said, as they began walking again. Around them, the city was slowly darkening, and people were milling about, getting ready to go out for the night. Music drifted out from several establishments, both legal and illegal, and with the chorus of happy voices and laughter that bounced off the walls of the curving streets, it created a cacophony of sound that Levy hadn't known before she'd been introduced to Fairy Tail, but now that she did know, she couldn't imagine ever living without.

They chatted lightly on their way back, and though the shadows of the cramped alleyways should have made her wary, Levy felt almost safer than when she'd walked the same streets with Loke at her elbow.

Something nagged at the back of her mind at that, and she frowned.

"Is something wrong?" Juvia asked, deviating from the subject of Mr. Fullbuster to look down at Levy, who hummed low on her throat. They'd rounded the last corner of their route, and the mouth of the alley leading to the back entrance of the speakeasy lay invitingly before them. As they made for the opening, realization finally hit her.

_Loke_. Her escort. That she'd _left_. Who had no idea where she was, or who had her.

"Uh...oh_."_

* * *

When they reached the speakeasy, it was in an uproar.

Walking through the doorway with tentative steps, Juvia right at her back, Levy felt every pair of eyes in the room turn towards her at the sound of their arrival. And just as quickly, the previous murmurs that had reached them from the outside, going from low to edgy to downright angry, stopped so abruptly it was like the collective breath of everyone gathered had gone clean out of the room. She halted in the doorway, a sheepish smile on her face as she took in the shocked expressions on the faces looking at her.

"Um...Hey?"

The moment, previously frozen, was kicked back into action by Gajeel pushing his way to the front, a dark shape amongst the party-clad people gathered at the bar. His shirt was untucked and his tie askew, and his expression livid as he stalked towards her with all the manner of an enraged predator. She almost took a step back, but he was in front of her before the thought had even settled, his large hands on her shoulders heavy as he gripped them.

"Levy, what the _hell_?!"

She noticed that despite the anger radiating off him, his hands were shaking, and she schooled her expression into something a little softer than fear as she met his gaze. "Gajeel–"

Juvia was beside her then, having pushed past her through the doorway. "That is no way to treat a lady, Gajeel," she announced, tone admonishing as she took in his hands on Levy's shoulders.

His dark gaze now on her, Gajeel looked torn between surprise and outright fury. "It was _you_?!" he burst out then. "Are ya out of yer _mind_, woman?!"

Juvia blinked her eyes prettily, tilting her head as her brows pulled down. "Juvia does not understand."

His hands tightened almost painfully against the shoulders he still hadn't released, and Levy put a hand on his elbow, the sheepish smile still on her face, and he turned the full force of his glare on her. "And _you_–"

"I'm _sorry_," she cut him off before he could go further. "I wasn't thinking– I _know_, I should have. And _yes,_ I know that something could have happened, but she really did have everything under control."

"That's not the _point_," he snapped, throwing a hand in Loke's direction; the weight dropping off her left shoulder so vivid she almost lost her balance. Her eyes followed the gesture, and she met Loke's gaze. He looked a bit roughed up, and Levy threw him an apologetic smile, to which he returned a wry one. "_That's_ yer escort," Gajeel growled.

"I know, but I _forgot_–"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and she bit down on her lip to stifle the smile that was threatening to split her face. It wasn't _funny,_ of course – something could have happened. And she had, effectively, been missing for the past three hours. She should have considered the fact that he'd wonder where she'd run off to, but with everything that had happened after Juvia had showed up, the thought had completely left her mind. It had been liberating, in a way, to have been given a glimpse of her old life, in which she'd lived quite without thinking too much about her troubles and the future. A life in which she'd had no troubles, and a secure future ahead of her – quite unlike her current situation. For once since her father's murder, she hadn't thought, and it had felt _good_. Rebellious, or at least for her.

She didn't say that, of course – he didn't look like he was in the mood for excuses. The fact that he was so visibly worried was oddly pleasing, though, but she wasn't about to say anything about _that_, either.

Gajeel threw Juvia a dirty look. "Had ta be _you_, hadn't it?"

Loke hummed from beside him as he stepped up to the three of them. "I should have known," he said. "Not many can get under my nose like that without my knowing." A suave smile tugged at his lips. "Especially not someone so pretty."

"Oye," Gajeel growled. "Flattery got ya into this situation – don't push yer luck."

Loke merely grinned, shrugging his shoulders, and Gajeel grumbled under his breath. Levy shared a look with Juvia, who looked unperturbed by the commotion she had caused. Her eyes were as deep and cunning as ever, and she gave Levy a wink as her gaze shifted to the bag resting against her hip. Levy unconsciously tightened her grip around the strap across her shoulder.

"Well," Makarov spoke up then, from where he sat at the bar. There was an amused smile on his face, but the concern was clearly etched onto his features, and Levy felt a sudden surge of shame. "It's a good thing there wasn't anything more serious, but I would prefer it, Juvia dear, if you were to alert me of your plans _beforehand_ next time."

Juvia nodded. "Of course, Master."

Cana crossed her arms on the bartop, and leaned her weight against it. "Damn, and here I was hoping for some daring rescue attempt. Redfox sure looked ready for it," she purred.

"Dry up, Alberona," Gajeel snapped as he let his remaining hand drop from Levy's shoulder. Cana merely grinned, and gave him a saucy wink.

Lucy appeared at Levy's elbow then, a wry smile on her face. "You should know that you caused quite the riot."

"Lu..."

Lucy waved her off, a good humoured smile on her face. "You're safe – that's what matters. But thank you for the premature grey hairs. And I do _mean_ that – they'll make me less eligible for marriage, and anything that'll help with _that_ endeavour is gladly welcomed."

Levy felt guilt tug at her heartstrings, and wrung her hands. "Are you sure?"

Lucy grinned. "_Yes_. But it's good that you came now, or we would have sent out another search party."

Levy blinked. "Another?"

"Your boys went out looking for ya when the cowboy came back alone," Cana spoke up from the bar. "Don't think anyone could've stopped 'em. Hell, I don't even know what they were plannin' on doin', but they should be back by now. Unless they've gotten into some kind of fix."

Concern surged within her. "Jet and Droy did?"

Lucy nodded. "They wanted to make sure it wasn't Gajeel who'd been up to no good," she said, throwing the man an amused smile. "They'd already left when he came in with Laxus. We told them going after you without a clue as to where you were wouldn't be very productive, but they weren't really up for listening. You were gone, and they were going to find you; I think that was the logic they were going with."

Gajeel snorted as he threw Levy an accusing glance. "Always causin' a hassle," he muttered, but some of the anger was gone, replaced with a grudging humour that made her smile despite the guilt eating at her.

"Yeah, well, I can't argue with you there, can I?" she murmured, averting her gaze and feeling a little embarrassed. She _had_ caused quite the hassle – not just for Gajeel, but what appeared to be everyone. From what she could tell, almost all of Makarov's people that she'd come in contact with at some point were gathered at the bar, save Jellal and his companions. There were even a few people she hadn't greeted, but who she'd seen at the speakeasy on occasion.

Gajeel grumbled under his breath, but she smiled when he tried to shift closer without making it overly apparent that he was doing so. "Just don't go making a habit of it," he muttered, meeting her gaze. "The hell did ya do, anyways?"

Levy smiled, and threw a glance at Juvia, who was talking to Makarov and Cana by the bar. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, and she could feel the heavy weight of her new gun as it pressed against her hip. "Oh, you know. Woman business. Shoes and hats and tea and cakes."

He snorted. "Sounds like her, alright. Talked yer ear off too, I bet."

Levy grinned. "Oh no, it more of a mutual sharing of talk."

"Yeah?" He couldn't have hid his interest even if he'd tried, and the fact made her smile widen.

"Oh yes, but that's between us."

"_Oye_ now–"

"Levy!"

Gajeel cursed under his breath, glancing towards the back entrance, from which Jet and Droy had just entered. The dejected looks on their faces shifted from surprise to elation in less than a second, and before she'd had a chance to react they were beside her, attempting to push past Gajeel, who stood stubbornly rooted to the spot at her shoulder. For once, though, they didn't make a remark on it.

"Where have you been?!"

"What happened?"

"Were you safe?"

"Was it _him_?" Jet asked, throwing Gajeel a dark look.

Levy held up her hands, touched at their concern but a little overwhelmed at the sheer extent of it. "Jet–"

"Juvia did it," the woman herself spoke up then, catching their attention. "And Juvia is sorry for making everyone worried." Her brows pulled together in an expression of utmost regret, and Levy could see the anger as it visibly drained away from Jet.

"Ah, oh – that's..." he trailed off, visibly uncomfortable and a little sheepish.

"A little more practice with that look and she'll have the stripper she's so damn gushy about following _her_ around," Levy heard Gajeel mutter from beside her, and she grinned. He had one of his hands stuffed in the pocket of his trousers, and the other dangled at his side, and without much more thought on the matter, she reached out tentatively to take it.

"Were you very worried about me?" she asked.

He glanced down at her, but didn't tug his hand back. "Nah."

"Liar."

His eye twitched. "Angry 's more like it," he grumbled. "Don't go running off with people like that."

"But it was Juvia."

He looked at her then, and she smiled, and she could tell he caught her meaning. With a wry quirk of the lips, he tightened his fingers around hers. "Yeah, well..." He let the agreement hang between them, no doubt at a loss of what else to say.

"_So_, since we had to cut the night short, there's still plenty of hooch in the back," Cana announced from behind the bar, catching the attention of everyone in the room. Meeting Levy's gaze, she gave her a wink. "Let's have a glass for getting dollface back in one piece, eh?"

A chorus of cheers rang out between the people gathered, and though the establishment was closed for customers, it felt like any other busy night when Cana began serving and the house band went back to their instruments. Jet and Droy lingered beside her, asking questions; both of them a good deal calmer now that the culprit had been revealed to not be Gajeel. There was still some tension between the three men, but Levy had become used to it to the point where she could happily ignore it.

A glass was pushed into her hands then, and she took it gratefully. "You don't have to go through all the trouble just because I came back," she said, a bit sheepishly, as Cana handed a drink to Lucy.

The brunette gave her an odd look. "Trouble? Whaddaya mean, trouble? We're celebrating."

Levy fidgeted with her glass. "Yeah, but...it's just _me_."

"Not 'just' you." It was Lucy who spoke up, an odd light in her brown eyes. "You're part of Fairy Tail now, aren't you? Maybe you could drop off the map from our old circles and no one would mind, but that doesn't really work here." The smile on her face held something Levy couldn't quite read – some kind of unspoken, personal concern that was echoed in the silent and unusually rigid shape of the pink-haired man at the blonde's shoulder.

Lucy held her glass up in a salute. "_We're_ your family now, right?"

Levy blinked, a bit taken aback by the question and everything it implied, but Lucy's gaze was steady and sure, and she felt a slow, genuine smile tug at her lips in return. She could feel several pairs of eyes on her; from Cana at her elbow to Juvia and Makarov at the bar, as well as her best friend before her. Natsu was the only one who wasn't looking at her, but who had his gaze firmly locked on Lucy; the expression on his face strangely grave compared to what she was used to. But in the midst of it all, what caught and held her attention were the dark eyes of the man at her side, unwavering yet guarded, and holding questions she didn't think he'd ever willingly ask her.

Meeting Gajeel's gaze, she raised her own glass, her smile widening when the frown on his face drained away. Lucy's question might not be as simple as it sounded, and the subject was one that hung between them like a weight, but for Levy, the answer was suddenly startlingly clear.

"Right!"

* * *

AN: Thought it was Ivan, did ya? Ho-HO, *frolics away from flipped tables*.

**a gangster's moll**: a gangster's girl


	28. hitting on all sixes

AN: A late update this week, because my life is a hectic roller-coaster of never-ending work at the moment. I hope the chapter makes up for it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXVIII**

He'd never been a good patient.

"Sit _still_," the hag growled as she prodded at the tender scarring on his brow, and Gajeel hissed as he fidgeted in his seat, grumbling under his breath as she set about removing the last of the stitches. Something told him she was being intentionally meticulous with her slow ministrations. To piss him off, no doubt, the vindictive creature.

"Brat," she snapped. "I swear if ya so much as _twitch_ one more time I'll sew ya to the goddamn bench!" Gajeel glared at her, and earned himself a cuff across the back of his head. "What did I say about moving yer brow?"

He said nothing to that, and kept his mouth stubbornly clamped shut, all the while trying not to feel like he was five years old and being scolded by his mother. He'd had his fair share of stitching and re-stitching and medical attention in general these past few months, and would be glad to never see the sharp end of a needle as long as he lived. But going by the nature of his job, that was just wishful thinking.

The hag echoed his thoughts with a muttered remark. "If I charged ya for all the damn effort I put into keepin' ya in one piece, you'd be indebted fer life."

Gajeel snorted. "Good thing yer such a kind-hearted soul, then."

"Don't push yer luck, boy. I might start now if that's what ya want."

He tried to glare at her without moving his brows, but it didn't have the desired effect, and so he fell silent, hands twitching against the edge of the bench he was sitting on. She hadn't even paused in her work, and kept her eyes firmly on the cut on his brow as she carefully removed the stitches at a pace that almost had him howling with impatience.

"Ya done yet?"

She only snorted, and he breathed sharply through his nose, wondering how long it took to remove a few stitches but unwilling to voice his thoughts on the matter. She was the kind of woman fully liable to make good of her threats, and he wasn't about to see what she would do if he really did push his luck.

"So, Makarov told me you're eager ta get yer job back watchin' the girl."

He tried to convey a 'what about it' look without raising a brow, but it didn't work, so instead he only shrugged. "What about it?"

Porlyusica quirked a wry smile. "Singin' a different tune than ya were earlier, huh. Was wonderin' when you'd find yerself a woman. Heck, with yer attitude, I'm surprised ya did."

"Har har _har_, hag. I ain't seen a husband in the years I've known ya; don't go waggin' yer finger at me."

She gave him another sharp cuff across the back of his head. "Disrespectful brat! Could be a grieving widow fer all ya know!"

"Are ya?"

"Hah! As if I'd tie myself down to some man," she spat. "I've got my hands full with you brats running down my door every day, and I ain't no housewife. And if I'd been a widow, good riddance!"

If he could, Gajeel would have rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop the smirk from tugging at his lips. There was a reason he liked the hag, even if she was a sour old crone. When he shifted his gaze to hers, she smirked. "Still, doesn't mean an old woman can't be happy when one of you troublemakers gets it right."

"I'm twenty-six," he ground out. "I ain't fifteen anymore."

She snorted. "Could've fooled me with that sassy attitude." His eye twitched, and she smacked his head. "No moving!"

"Ow–fine! I'm still, damn it!"

"Better do as I say, or I'll make sure the scar will turn the girl away in a heartbeat."

He snorted. "She ain't that fickle."

The hag grinned. "Good. Not that you'd get someone fickle with your ugly mug in the first place."

"Oye–"

"Ya plannin' on proposing?"

He nearly choked on his own spit. _"What?" _

She raised a brow. "Don't give me that incredulous look. Times may be changing and the skirt-hems might be lifting, but ya ain't pursuin' a respectable girl if you've not got thoughts about marryin' her." She gave him a look that dared him to contradict her, and he grumbled, averting his gaze to the floor.

"Might've thought about it," he muttered.

She snorted. "Gotta do a little more than _thinking_, brat. No woman wants to wait forever."

"Speaking from experience?"

He didn't even bother ducking to avoid the hand aimed for his head, and grinned at her irritated grumble. "Watch yer mouth," she warned, and tugged hard enough at one of the stitches to make a hiss slip past his lips. "I'm givin' ya advice here. Lord knows what kind of mess you'd make without it."

"I ain't made a mess."

"Not yet, you've not. So, when?"

He feigned ignorance, just to tick her off. "When what?"

She snorted. "Don't be coy. When are ya going to ask her? Knowing her, she ain't gonna want to live off Makarov forever, and she ain't got her old man's company to fall back on."

He said nothing to that, and stared intently at the wall in front of him. It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it, but the fact still remained that he had no clue whether or not she was even interested for a commitment of that scale. It wasn't a topic you just freely discussed, either, and hell, they'd just recently sorted things out between them. It wasn't that he needed time to think about whether or not he _wanted_ her; he'd made his mind up about that long before she'd come around. It was more that she was from a completely different world than he was, and he wasn't going to kid himself in thinking that she'd dreamed all her life of, like the hag had so eloquently put it, 'tying herself down'. And to a man like him, of all things. He had a past he wasn't proud of, a job that was several different kinds of shady, and on the side he was a prize fighter. There wasn't anything glamorous or respectable about anything concerning him, and even if he knew that she wasn't the kind of woman to care about things like that, it didn't stop the doubt from creeping in.

And then there was the issue with Ivan. He had no idea how much the man suspected of his dallying with the girl, but if he went about and asked her to marry him, word would get out. And no amount of sharp wit could hope to help him talk his way out of_that_. Which meant he'd have to wait until they'd somehow dealt with him, although he still had no idea how they were going to accomplish _that_.

But if they did, by some miracle, find a way to deal with Ivan, the possibility existed that she would get her father's company back. She could go back to her old life. And there was just no room for him there; he'd been over this already, and the more he thought about it, the worse the outcome looked.

The hag's snort drew him from his thoughts, and he looked up at her where she was now dabbing something over the healed cut on his brow. She gave him a knowing look. "You're over-thinking things."

"You were the one who told me not to mess things up," he grumbled.

"And letting yer insecurities get to ya is not the way to avoid that."

"The he–I ain't insecure!"

"But you're afraid of losing her."

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. "No."

"Don't lie to me, brat; it hasn't worked in the past ten years, and it's not going to work now."

He shifted in his seat. "What if she doesn't want to tie herself down?"

Porlyusica smirked. "Then she doesn't, and all the more power to her for it, I say. But going by what I've seen of 'er, that doesn't seem a likely scenario. Yer pretty crazy about a fella if ya drag him through this festering sore of a neighbourhood in the middle of the night to have him patched up for his idiocy."

"_That's_ yer evidence?"

She grinned. "Ya were barely conscious; I saw more than you did that night."

"Hey–"

She sighed. "The girl's nuts about ya, kid. Put her out of her misery and ask her like a proper gentleman. Ya might not know how to tuck yer shirt in or wear a tie like a well-mannered fella, but I've known ya since ya were as scrawny as a birch tree, and yer a good boy underneath all the dirt and the foul language."

"Gee, thanks."

She snorted. "Don't let it go to yer head. Now get out! I haven't had lunch yet and you've already taken up too much of my day."

"So I'm cleared?"

"Yes, yes, whaddaya want, a written declaration? Shoo!"

He got to his feet, and avoided the hand grabbing for his ear by sheer height alone. Grinning down at her impishly, he buttoned up his shirt, leaving it untucked just because he could, and slipped his suspenders back over his shoulders.

She glared up at him. "The hell did ya get so tall?" she muttered, as she prodded his side where a simple, thin bandage now covered the almost fully healed wound. She hummed under her breath. "Come back if it gives ya trouble."

Gajeel raised a brow as he headed for the door, nodding his head to the kid where she sat on the old couch by the wall, practising her sutures on a piece of fruit. "Thought ya didn't want me running down yer door," he said.

"Don't make me take my words back," Porlyusica retorted. "I ain't a charity, but I ain't about ta let ya die of an infection just ta spite ya, either."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be careful."

She snorted. "When pigs fly, no doubt. Close the door on yer way out!" she threw over her shoulder as she turned back to pack up her things.

Pushing his way out the door, Gajeel heard a final 'and don't forget what I told ya!' thrown after him as he made his way down the small alleyway, and he shook his head as he fished out a cigarette from his pocket. Ten years ago she'd have come running after him with murder in her eyes if she'd caught him smoking outside her home, but just as he wasn't fifteen anymore, she wasn't as spry as she'd used to be, and now her menace was restricted to the occasionally boxed ear if he was immediately within her reach.

Making a sharp turn towards the inner city and towards Makarov's nicer office, he tried not to mull too long over what she'd told him. With what was brewing with Ivan, it wasn't like he needed more to occupy his mind, but left to his own thoughts as he was now, ignoring it wasn't exactly easy. He'd never really feared losing anyone before; you didn't usually have that luxury where he came from. People didn't often stick around, and if they did go, you let them. That was the way it had been with his old man, as well as most of the people he'd come into contact with in the years following. But Levy was different, and he didn't quite know what to do about her. The hag's suggestion was an easy one, sure, but the thought still lurked at the back of his mind that her answer might not be quite as simple.

It didn't take him long to reach Makarov's office, and he stamped out his cigarette on the pavement before heading inside, taking the stairs two at a time. Striding inside the reception, he threw the secretary a lazy salute, not even waiting to be accepted in before striding towards the door at the far end of the room.

As expected, the old man wasn't in a meeting, and only offered a curiously raised brow as Gajeel came to stand in front of his desk.

"Your shirt is untucked," he observed, before turning his eyes back to the document he'd been poring over.

Gajeel shoved his hands even further into his pockets for emphasis, and slouched a little in his stance. "Hag cleared me for work."

Makarov hummed under his breath, an odd smile playing on his lips, but his gaze never left the paper in front of him. "So I see," he mused, as he finally raised his eyes. "And?"

"And I want her back."

Makarov laced his fingers in front of him on his desk – as Ivan was apt to do, but on the older man the action looked more natural than menacing – and tilted his head to the side. For a moment he said nothing, and Gajeel fidgeted a little where he stood. "What?" he growled, uncomfortable under the deep scrutiny.

Makarov's smile was the most genuine he had seen in weeks, and some of the worry-lines on his face seemed to melt away at the gesture. "Oh, nothing. Can't an old man bask a little in the success of his own scheme if he wants to?"

Gajeel snorted. "Don't act like it was yer plan from the get-go, old man."

Makarov shrugged. "I won't, but I can say it turned out a lot better than I had hoped." He smiled. "Who would have thought, a few months ago, that you would come begging for your job back? The job I so distinctly remember almost forcing you to take."

Gajeel shifted. "I ain't begging."

Makarov raised a brow. "Close enough."

"Can it, old man. Am I her bodyguard or not?"

Makarov nodded towards the door. "The job is all yours. I informed Loke this morning – I assumed 'Lyusica would clear you after the check-up."

Gajeel made no sign to show that he was pleased, but going by the smile on the geezer's face, he already knew, anyway. So without another word, Gajeel nodded, and turned to leave; he had what he'd come for, and he was eager to get back to the speakeasy.

"Gajeel."

Stopping in the doorway, he inclined his head to look back over his shoulder at his boss. Sitting on his desk with his fingers still laced before his face, Makarov looked suddenly grave compared to his earlier humour. "Keep a close eye on her. What happened with Juvia cannot happen again."

Gajeel snorted. "Don't have to tell me twice."

Makarov nodded, and a wry smile tugged at his lips. "I know. There was a reason I chose you in the first place."

Gajeel said nothing to that, and when Makarov nodded, he turned to leave.

He hadn't known why he'd been picked when the old man had first assigned him the job of looking after Levy. Hell, it hadn't been until she'd asked to have him replaced that he'd understood just why he'd been chosen, and now that he was finally done sitting on his ass like an invalid he wondered not for the first time what had happened to him. He'd never been dependent on anyone in his life, let alone concerned about their well-being, except maybe Lily. Not so much Juvia, but that was because she knew how to take care of herself. And Levy might not be the helpless chit he'd first pegged her as, but that didn't make better the fact that she was a thorn in Ivan's side, no matter how little she could do to take her old man's company back. To the nutter, she was a nuisance, and Gajeel knew from experience that Ivan was not a patient man when it came to daily annoyances. All she had to do was make one wrong move, and she'd make up his mind. At least Gajeel was the one watching her back now; that had to count for something, although he had a feeling it wouldn't matter much who had her back if Ivan really did decide to get rid of her for good.

The day was darkening into evening when he finally found his way back to Fairy Tail, and as he rounded the corner into the back-alley he was surprised to find Leo there, leaning against the wall with a gasper at his lips. Looking up at Gajeel's arrival, he smirked, and fished out another cigarette, handing it over without another word. Gajeel accepted it with a nod, and fell against the wall beside him, lighting it and taking a long drag.

"Back on duty at last," Leo spoke up after a lull, a teasing lilt to his tone.

Gajeel smirked. "About damn time."

Leo grinned. "I feel I ought to be a little jealous; if only to pull your leg. She's a fine gal."

"I've got eyes."

"Could've fooled me, a few weeks ago," Leo pointed out, not missing a beat.

"Yeah, yeah. You've all had a good laugh at my expense fer it."

"And we'll have more yet, I'll wager. No offence to you, Gajeel, but you're no smooth-talker."

"Never been an aspiration," he countered.

"It shows."

"Shaddup."

Leo laughed, and saluted him, before settling back against the wall, and for a few moments they were silent, enjoying their cigarettes in the dimming light of early evening. Somewhere in the distance, the indignant shriek of an alley cat cut through the air.

"It's like we're preparing for a war."

Gajeel looked up from where he'd been staring at the wall opposite, brows furrowed. The humour was gone from Leo's face; replaced by a wry, almost guarded look. Turning his head to regard him, Leo nodded towards the speakeasy behind them. "Makarov has called Jellal back. And the girls."

Gajeel frowned. "Why?" Last he'd heard, the trio had been bound for the capitol. That was a long journey on a good day, and not one was just called back from on a whim.

Leo shrugged. "Beats me, but then the old man always has a trick hidden up his sleeve. Maybe this is one? Either way, it's disconcerting, to say the least. It's not just a father-son disagreement, this time."

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Gajeel exhaled deeply, before letting it drop to the ground and stamping it out with the toe of his boot. "Well, if the geezer has a plan, that's better than going in blindfolded," he said at last.

"And if Ivan had something up _his_ sleeve as well?"

Gajeel paused on his way to the door. Leo's words rang loudly in the darkened alley, voicing the thought that was on everyone's mind these days. It was far from a pleasant scenario, but it was the one they were stuck with, regardless. And he had no answer to give him, but then Leo probably knew that already; the question had been rhetorical, if anything. Throwing a final look over his shoulder at his darkened shape against the wall, Gajeel continued towards the entrance.

"Take good care of her, Redfox."

Gajeel smirked, but didn't pause in his step as he moved towards the door. That, at least, was something he knew how to deal with, no matter how much the actions of his two superiors eluded him. "Aa," he said simply, before pushing through the door and making his way into the speakeasy. They weren't open tonight, but there would be people gathered downstairs for a private party, as per the usual. Quiet music drifted out from the common room, accompanied by a muted murmur of laughter and chatter.

He didn't get far inside before he encountered another obstacle in his path.

"Gajeel."

He resisted the urge to groan as the two young men who'd taken to following Levy around intercepted him on his way across the room, and for a split second he considered just pushing past them. He could see her on the other side, chatting with Blondie and Juvia and the idiot, but from where he was standing she might as well have been across the city.

"What?" he ground out, taking in the determined looks on their faces. They met his glare with one of their own, though, and didn't shrink away, and he knew what they were about to say even before they opened their mouths. So help him, if he had to sit through one more "take good care of her" speech...

"We heard you're back to being Levy's bodyguard," Speedy said, tilting his head, challenge clear in his eyes.

"What of it?" Gajeel snapped. He'd had too much of this crap today – he just wanted a sharp drink and his girl on his arm where she belonged, and why – _why_ – couldn't everyone just mind their own bloody beeswax?

Speedy crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Good."

Gajeel blinked – a retort on the tip of his tongue – and then reeled. "Wh–_good_?"

Speedy nodded. "That Loke. He's alright, but when Miss Juvia took her the other day..." he trailed off, before shrugging his shoulders. "Something tells me she would have had a harder time snatching her away with you watching her."

Gajeel looked between them, suspicion a sharp taste on his tongue, but something told him they weren't pulling wool over his eyes, regardless of how little sense their sudden change of heart made to him. "Aa," he said then, after a moment.

Speedy smirked, but said nothing else as he pushed past him, heading towards the bar, and the chubby one followed in his wake. Gajeel watched them go, and the words tumbled off his tongue before he could stop them. "You don't like me."

The chubby one looked back at him, and then at Speedy, who shrugged. "Maybe not. But _she_ does," he said, nodding towards the back of the room, where Levy was sitting. Then they turned and left, and Gajeel remained where he was, baffled despite himself. Because what the hell had just happened?

"Gajeel!" Turning at the sound of his voice, his incredulity was soon forgotten at the sight of Levy, coming towards him from across the room. She wasn't dressed in her glad rags tonight, but the brightly contrasting colours of her blue hair and the orange of her dress stood out against the people gathered around them.

He smirked. "Hey."

She tilted her head as she came to stand before him, eyes on his brow. "Your stitches are gone," she observed, and he smirked, but said nothing. "I haven't seen Loke all day," she continued, her slowly widening smile betraying her attempted ignorance.

"He's outside havin' a smoke – I could get him fer ya."

"You're incorrigible."

He shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips."Still want me?"

She grinned, but there was an odd look on her face, as though he'd just asked a very silly question. "Do you even have to ask?"

"_Yer pretty crazy about a fella if ya drag him through this festering sore of a neighbourhood in the middle of the night to have him patched up for his idiocy."_

"Just checkin'," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders and ignoring the hag's words as they flitted through his head.

She laughed, but leaned into him, the display as comfortable as though they'd had years of practice and weren't still figuring out how to act around each other. Looking up at him through the fringe falling across her brow, her eyes crinkled in a warm smile. "So I guess that means I'm your job again," she mused.

Gajeel grunted. "Not just my job," he grumbled, ignoring the eyes of the room that he could feel on his back. Reaching down, he traced the pad of his thumb down the line of her jaw, smirking as her eyes fluttered shut, and she rose to the tips of her toes, a gloved hand curling around one of his suspenders, tugging him down–

"Get a goddamn room, ya neckers! This ain't a pettin' party!"

Ignoring Cana's teasing holler, he didn't pause, determined to make a show of it now that she'd felt the need to point it out. Shaking against him with laughter, Levy grinned against his mouth, not half as embarrassed as she by rights should have been, and he felt her free hand come up to tug at his other suspender as she pressed herself against him.

"Alright, alright, yer provin' yer point," Cana drawled from the bar. "Bank's closed, ya hear? Sheesh! There's other people in here!"

Pulling away, Gajeel grinned at her where she leaned on the bar, a challenging glint in her dark eyes. Beside her, Lily sat leaning against the counter with a glass in his hand and a wry smile on his scarred face. "Come now, Cana – let the kids have their fun. I've watched them dance around each other for too long to be bothered by a little public cuddling."

"Kids? Feelin' yer true age today, Lil?" Gajeel drawled as he came over, Levy at his elbow; her hand snug in the crook of his arm.

Lily raised his glass. "Next to you young things? Always," he grinned cheekily.

Placing two more drinks on the bartop, Cana gave him an odd look. "'Feelin' old, Lil? Say the word and I'll find ya a gal ta take some years off yer brow. Lord knows there's plenty of those around," she muttered the last part, throwing a glance across the room. "Saw a fine-lookin' bird ogling ya earlier. Where'd she go?"

Gajeel met his friend's gaze, but Lily merely shook his head. "Not for this old man, Cana, but thank you."

Cana raised a curious brow as she leaned forward on her elbows. "You know, I've never seen ya with a lady on yer arm in the years I've known ya. You holdin' out for someone special? The years ain't in your favour, you know."

Lily laughed. "Such faith," he mused, but shook his head. "And who knows? And old man may have his secrets." He winked at her, before turning his attention back to Gajeel and Levy. "I heard you're back in the business. Good for you, kid."

Gajeel raised a brow. "What, you gonna be proud of my accomplishments?"

"You mean the few you've got so far? Someone has to celebrate," Lily countered without missing a beat, raising a brow in challenge. "And I'll have you know I've been the one rooting for you since I dragged your sorry ass off the streets," he added. "If anyone has a right to celebrate, it's me."

Levy smiled as she squeezed Gajeel's arm. "I wonder what he'd do without you, Lily," she said, throwing a teasing glance at the man beside her and ignoring his grumble of protest.

Lily's eyes gleamed. "Hard to say," he mused. "He gets into enough trouble, regardless of my presence."

"_Oye_–"

"Ya'd make a good Pa, Lil," Cana spoke up then, leaning her chin on her hand. "It ain't too late to get some brats of yer own. Hell, ya might have more luck than you've had with this fool," she added with a smirk, nodding towards Gajeel. The words seemed to draw all the air from between them, yet she didn't seem to notice. Gajeel felt Levy stiffen against him, and her hand gripped his arm tightly.

There was a guarded expression on Lily's face, and the smile could have fooled him if he hadn't known better. "Oh, I don't know about that, Cana," he said at length, staring intently into his drink, before raising it in a salute that seemed more mocking than anything else. "Sometimes a man knows when he's missed his chance." He laughed then, suddenly. "But going by the look of him, I'd say I've done a pretty good job," he added, meeting Gajeel's gaze, and despite the underlying sadness, there was truth in his dark eyes.

"Don't know what more I could possibly ask for."

* * *

"We're here, Miss Charle."

Smoothing slim fingers over the letter in her hands, Charle looked up at the sound of the chauffeur's voice. "Thank you." Tracing a thumb across the sloppily scribbled name at the bottom, she felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

"You strange, strange boy," she murmured, as she lovingly folded the letter along the creases that were the results of frequent reading and re-folding, before slipping it into her small purse.

The door to the driver's seat slammed shut, followed by footsteps on the pavement before the door to her left was opened. She smiled, gathering the fabric of her skirts as she stepped down out of the car and into the chilled afternoon. She wrinkled her nose at the strange scent that seemed to cling to the air, so different from the part of the city she was used to, but tried her best to ignore it as she stepped away from the car and up to the building before her.

"Are you quite sure this is the right place?" the man at her side asked, the low rumble of his voice betraying his scepticism. She smiled, and nodded, but said nothing else and didn't wait for her chauffeur to follow as she started towards the entrance. He followed behind her, keeping close to her shoulder. She knew that if he'd had his way, they wouldn't even be there, but she'd always been too stubborn for her own good. She wondered idly if he would speak of her strange visit to her father later, but pushed the thought away. She'd deal with that obstacle when she got there. He had kept his fair share of secrets in the years he had watched over her, and she didn't think one more would be too much to ask.

She tried not to let it show how the smell of the place affected her, and kept her shoulders squared and her chin raised as she walked through the main entrance into the old gym. So early in the morning, there weren't many people gathered, but the few that were there turned to regard her as she walked in, surprise evident on their faces, not just at seeing a woman amongst them but one so clearly from another class. Turning to her chauffeur, she nodded. "I can take it from here."

They had discussed this before they'd left the estate, but still his brows furrowed, and he spared a glance at the clientèle in the room. "Miss Charle..."

"I won't be long," she said, the order ringing clear in her words, before turning back around, and when she walked forward she didn't hear him follow. Eagerness simmered along her nerves, and she drew a deep breath to calm herself. She'd caught sight of him upon her entry, and the hope that had leaped in her chest burned bright and smouldering as she stepped ever closer. The heels of her shoes clicked loudly against the old wooden floorboards, and the man looked up at the sound. Tall and dark skinned and with grey dusting his temples, he looked at a distance like any other boxer in the gym, but the large, boyish eyes that turned to regard her were completely at odds with the leering gazes following her as she cut across the room.

The shock that passed over his face – quite different from the simple curiosity and surprise on the face of the others – told her she'd found the right person. There was recognition in those eyes, and it gave her the courage to take the last few steps towards him.

"Mr. Nadi?"

He didn't respond at first; just looked at her as though he was seeing a ghost. And maybe he was – she'd been told since she was a child that she was the spitting image of her mother.

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a letter – a different one than the sweet and awkward love letter she'd been reading earlier. This letter was old – sixteen years old, to be exact – and the creases were worn and ragged, yet it was carefully conserved. Across the pages was the lovely handwriting of her mother, the ink stained with tears in places that made the words hard to decipher, but years and years of poring over them had etched them into her heart, to the point where she didn't even need it to remember what it said.

Holding it out towards the man before her, rooted to the spot and having seemingly no idea what to do, Charle took a deep breath. "My name is Charle, and I think you might have the answer to a question I have."

His eyes left hers then, carefully, as though she was an apparition bound to disappear the moment he looked away, before letting them rest on the open letter held out towards him. Tentatively, he reached out a bandage-wrapped hand, and she let the letter go, her heart leaping in her chest the moment it slipped from her fingers.

The horrid thought that he might not know how to read struck her then, but by the time it had fully settled he was already reading the letter, and she felt shame wash over her at having so easily considered the thought. She could see his eyes widen as they took in the words, and drew a deep breath, steeling herself for the questions that were bound to follow.

When he was done, he looked up, stunned disbelief clear on his face. "You're–" he croaked, the hoarse words catching in his throat.

Charle nodded, hands tightening around the purse in her hands. "Yes, I am," she said, pride creeping into her voice, and she could tell the admission struck him even harder than reading the truth on paper. Squaring her shoulders, she met his gaze with her own unwavering eyes.

"And I need you to tell me where to find him."

* * *

AN: DUN-DUN-DUN...!

Next up: Last chapter for Natsu and Lucy! Daddy issues galore, folks.

**hit on all sixes**: to perform 100 percent

**petting party**: one or more couples making out in a room.

**bank's closed**: no more kissing


	29. drop anchor

AN: Last NaLu chapter for this story (can you tell it's moving towards its conclusion?) Read at own risk and pleasure!

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXIX**

She'd almost forgotten how large her father's estate was.

Gloved hands tightening in the fabric of her skirt – long-hemmed, for the occasion – Lucy drew a deep breath, brows furrowing as she took in the sloping road leading from the black iron gates, across the park-like expanse of the front gardens and to the manse itself. Her father's house. It had ceased to be hers the day her mother had died and taken the life of the place with her. Ever since, Jude Heartfilia had retreated to his study and had spent more hours inside it than anywhere else in the years that had followed. The only time he'd seemed to have time for Lucy had been to present another suitor, and as that venture had torn a rift between them, growing with every following attempt at marrying her off, Lucy had few fond memories of her father after her mother's passing.

Sighing, her fingers slowly relaxed their tight grip on her skirt, and her shoulders slumped a little as she considered the prospect before her.

"D'ya need an invitation to go in?"

Lifting her gaze, Lucy felt a smile tug at her lips at Natsu's blunt question. Hands stuffed into his pockets and gaze raised to take in the sprawling park before them, he looked a little impressed at the sight. She laughed, but her heart wasn't in it. "No, but a little courage would be nice."

His gaze snapped back to her, and he tilted his head, brows furrowing in a frown. "You scared?"

She pursed her lips. "Not quite. More...nervous, I guess. I _did_ run away." Of course, her father had known all along where she'd been, but the point was that she'd made the choice to leave. That alone should have infuriated him, so she'd been surprised when she'd received only a summons to see him. She'd feared he'd resort to some drastic measure, after his failed attempt at collecting her earlier.

Of course, she wasn't thick; she knew what it meant. He wanted her in a good mood; to come of her own free will. He couldn't force her to marry, and forcing her to come home wouldn't have done him any favours. By letting her choose to come and see him, he no doubt assumed she would be more than willing to accept whatever proposal he had waiting for her.

"What's eatin' ya, Luce?"

She shook her head. "I think I know what he wants to talk about, and it's not exactly something I look forward to."

Natsu was silent a moment. "Marriage, yeah?"

She nodded, and breathed, "Yeah."

"Then say you don't wanna get married."

She sighed. "It's not that simple, Natsu."

"Sounds simple to me. D'ya want to get married?"

"N-yes. I mean _no._ Not right _now_. Or, not to whoever _he's_ chosen for me. I want to choose who I marry, but it's not really a privilege I have at the moment," she murmured the last part.

"Why not?"

The oddly serious quality to his voice had her turn towards him, and she met his gaze. "Look at it this way. If I refuse, he might disown me, and then what do I have? How many men would marry a woman who has _nothing?"_

His brows quirked in a disbelieving look. "So your Pa's money is all there is to you?"

Lucy smiled wryly. "From the perspective of most young and eligible suitors – _yes_." Not even the fact that she was pretty would help her if her father cast her off; she'd be alone, and with no prospects at all. No reputation, no name. Nothing.

"Well to hell with 'em," Natsu said with a snort. "Why would you want to marry someone like that anyway?"

"I'm the only heir to my father's name," she said with a shrug. "He needs someone to take over the company when the time comes, and it's my job to make sure he has a male heir to do that."

"That's bull."

"It's how things work in my world," she retorted. "I don't want to marry some rich sugar daddy, but I might have to. What else would I do?"

"Don't you want to write?"

She laughed, looking up at him incredulously. "Yeah, but that's...that's just a dream."

"So?"

"So, I...I can't bet everything I have on something like that. My future...it's too big a gamble." She shook her head. "I don't have that many options, but I have a responsibility to my father. And until I meet someone who wants to marry me for something other than the money, I'm going to have to settle with what I've got." And right now, what she had was her father; his money, his name, and his company. It was more than anyone could wish for, and she knew she should be pleased with her lot in life, not miserable. Not when she wasn't living on the streets with barely a penny in her purse. She had, in essence, everything she could wish for.

The only thing that remained was for her to convince herself of that.

With a deep breath, Lucy squared her shoulders, and before she could lose her courage, took the first step forward through the iron archway and onto the ground of the Heartfilia estate. She sensed more than saw Natsu stiffen behind her, but before he could speak, she turned towards him. "Please wait here. I'm safe as long as I'm within the grounds, and I won't be long." She hesitated. "And...and if I have to stay, I'll come and let you know."

"You're not _staying_–"

"I won't know for sure yet," she cut him off, voice resolute. "_Please_, Natsu."

He crossed his arms over his chest, and looked entirely displeased with the prospect. She gave him a challenging look, daring him to move, but at the same time trying desperately to convey the importance of her plea for him to stay behind. She didn't know what her father would do if she showed up with a liquor smuggler at her heels, claiming to be her escort.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't argue further. Shuffling over to the brick wall running around the property, he leaned against it, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his trousers and with a petulant yet determined look on his face. "I'll be here if you need me."

Lucy smiled. "Thank you, Natsu."

He said nothing to that, and she turned back, fingers once again gripping her skirt to lift the hem out of the dirt. She'd become so used to short hemlines lately, it felt almost foreign, dressed as she was. It almost felt like she was stepping back in time – not just to another life, but to another world.

The road to the manse seemed longer than she remembered, yet part of her wished she never had to reach the front door and what awaited her behind it. As she came closer, she could spot the car parked outside, and the driver washing it with the same rigorous attentiveness she remembered from the day she had left. Some of the windows on the upper floor were open to let fresh air inside, and in the gardens one of the maids was busy beating one of the dining room carpets.

"Miss Lucy! Oh, it's Miss Lucy come home at last!"

The shout came from one of the upper-story windows, and Lucy waved up at the maid, a small smile tugging at her lips. All at once, several heads appeared in the row of open windows, and even some of the windows on the first floor were opened to reveal eager faces and searching eyes, and a murmur of voices drifted out as the news of her arrival spread throughout the house.

"Welcome home, Miss!"

"Miss Lucy!"

"Miss Lucy is back! Go tell the Master!"

Stepping up to the main entrance, Lucy shielded her eyes from the sun, smiling at the housekeeper and valet as they came, almost stumbling outside in their eagerness. If she had missed anything about her old life, it had to be the staff.

"Hello, everyone."

She was glad when they didn't question where she'd been – she figured her father must have told them, at some point. Without much ado, the housekeeper ushered her towards the house. "Are you hungry, Miss? Or would you like something to drink?"

"Ah, no, that's fine. I'm just here to meet Father."

The older woman snorted. "Well, you father can wait until you've had a rest. Have you walked all this way?"

"Yes, but there's no need to–"

"Fix her something to eat! Something light, yes?" the housekeeper spoke to one of the maids, who nodded.

"Wait!" Lucy spoke up then, as an idea struck her. Smiling at the startled maid, she nodded to the direction she'd come from. "Could you please bring something to the man at the gate? I told him to wait for me, and I don't know how long I'll be."

If the housekeeper was surprised at the news of a strange man loitering at the gates, she didn't show it, but nodded to the maid. "See that it is done." Turning back to Lucy, she gave her a once-over. "You look good, Miss. Fresh faced and well fed. You father will be pleased to know."

Lucy pursed her lips, but nodded. "I should see him straight away," she pressed. As much as she'd like to sit down with some of the staff, there were more important things on her mind.

The housekeeper sighed. "Well, there's no helping it, I suppose. Got that stubborn streak from the late Missus, you did. In you go then, but I'll have something made for when you're done. Lord knows you'll need it." The last part was muttered, and not meant for her ears, but Lucy caught it, and had to bite down on her lip to hide her smile.

Gathering her skirts, she made her way inside, moving up the winding staircase and down the hallways with practised ease. Nothing had changed in the months she'd been gone, but then that didn't really surprise her. Her father hadn't had anything changed since her mother had died, after all. If he ever did change something, even if it was only a carpet, she'd be worried something was wrong.

Finally arriving at the dark wooden door to Jude's study, Lucy drew a deep breath, before lifting a loosely fisted hand and knocking three times. "Father, it's me," she called.

"...Come in."

Drawing a deep breath, she nodded to herself, before pushing the door open and making her way inside.

It was now or never.

Warm sunlight streamed in from the large windows at the far end of the room overlooking the back gardens, and Lucy blinked against the glare, stepping tentatively towards the large desk and the man seated behind it. Upon her entrance, Jude Heartfilia looked up from his papers.

"Lucy."

"Father."

He was silent a moment. "You look well."

She breathed. "Thank you. I–"

"Are you done?"

Her mouth snapped shut, and she frowned. "What?"

He raised a brow. "This rebellion of yours. Are you done? Will you come home at last?"

She felt a spark of anger flare up within her, and steeled herself. "It's not a rebellion, Father. It's my life. I–"

"Your life is _here_, Lucy, not with those people. I would have thought you'd realized that by now."

"Those _people_–"

"Are bootleggers. Smugglers. Mob affiliates. _Criminals_. Amongst none of which a young woman of your reputation has any business spending her time," he cut her off, tone sharp as he regarded her from below furrowed, blonde brows.

"Father..."

Jude leaned back in his chair. "You know why you are here," he said. There was no question, no beating around the bush, avoiding the subject at hand. Not that she'd expected anything less.

Lucy nodded. "Yes."

"He is a good man. Just a few years older than you. _Nouveau_ _riche_, regrettably, but he comes from a good family nonetheless, and the company thrives. You could have had better, but one cannot pick and choose when the prime opportunities have passed." He met her gaze squarely, and Lucy flushed, knowing he was referring to the suitors she had refused.

She said nothing for a moment, and bit down on her lip. "And if I won't accept it?" she asked, after a lull.

Jude sighed. "Then someone else will step up. Many girls would give close to anything to be in your position."

"They're more than welcome," Lucy muttered.

"They will be, if you are foolish." Her father leaned forward onto his elbows. "What other option do you have? I offer you stability; a secure future. _Wealth."_

She threw her hands up. "I don't want wealth!"

He scoffed. "You speak out of ignorance. You have never once lived without it. You think living under Makarov's roof has taught you anything about the world? He is one of the wealthiest men in the city, and from the look of you, you have benefited greatly from his fortune."

Lucy seethed, but she couldn't retaliate. What he said was true, after all, no matter how much it hurt her pride to admit it.

"What would you do on your own?" he continued. Not because he was curious, she knew, but because he was making a point. "You have no job, no experience. You are a _woman._ Your name would mean nothing without a husband."

Lucy bristled. "I would make it work."

"How?"

She hesitated. "I...I would write."

He didn't scoff, but instead he sighed, and rubbed his forehead with his palm. "Lucy..."

"I'd find a publisher. I'd make it _work."_

Jude shook his head. "On your own, the effort would be futile. You are a woman_–_"

"And so I should just marry then? Because it will solve everything, even my sex?"

"Yes."

Whatever she'd been about to say fell away from her mind, and she closed her mouth with an audible snap. "It's not that simple."

Her father shrugged. "It is what you make it. He is a good match; by marrying him you will secure your future. You may even write, and his name might be of use to you in your endeavours."

"I don't want to be published because of_ his name–_"

"This is no fairy tale, Lucy!" Jude snapped, and she clamped her mouth shut. "And you are not a girl anymore. You are a grown woman, moving past your prime. You _will marry._ I have chosen a suitable husband for you, and you will at the very least meet him before you make your choice."

She huffed, but said nothing to that. She wished she could make a good case for herself, but the more she tried to formulate her words, the more she seemed to sound like a rebellious adolescent. And it wasn't helping that her father had a point. No matter how much she didn't want to get married, the fact still remained that she couldn't live off her father for the rest of her life, or Makarov.

"Very well," she said finally, and her father visibly relaxed. "I'll meet with him, and–"

She hadn't had the chance to finish her sentence when the door to the study burst open, startling her out of her shoes, and she spun around, only to see Natsu barging in. Flashing her a grin, he ignored the indignant protests of the valet as he tried to restrain him.

"That's not gonna be necessary," he declared as he came to stand beside her.

"Natsu! What–"

"Mr. Heartfilia, I couldn't stop him! He just showed up outside asking for the young Miss, and before I could get my wits about me he was already inside the house and–" the valet seemed about to explode, he was so red-faced, presumably from running after Natsu. But Jude didn't even seem to see him, his attention captured by the rose-haired man who'd barged into his study like he owned the place.

"What are you doing in here?" Lucy hissed, panic rising in her at the unabashed grin on his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Jude asked. "Who are you?"

Lifting one hand from his pocket, Natsu tilted his sixpence in greeting. "Name's Natsu. And I said yer matchmaking won't be necessary, 'cause she's not going to marry that guy."

"Natsu–"

He grinned then, teeth flashing, and the next words out of his mouth almost had Lucy choking on her own tongue.

"She's marrying _me_."

...

_**"What?!"**_

* * *

"Oye, Luce! Wait up!"

Ignoring his calls, Lucy stomped her way down the pavement with as much inelegance as she could muster, hands white-knuckled against her frock as she cut across the road without even looking out for passing vehicles.

"Luce!"

She heard him catch up – knew he would, sooner or later – but just as his fingers brushed the thin fabric of the blouse covering her elbow, she whirled around, making him take a startled step back at the fury flashing in her eyes. "No! Don't you 'Luce' me, you–you...ooooh!" she fisted her hands, and whirled back around, storming away down the street towards the river. She'd managed to get away from the outskirts of Magnolia and well into the inner city before he'd caught up with her; the fact meant he'd stayed back to speak with her father, and just the _thought_ had horrified embarrassment well up within her. She didn't need him to defend her, and least of all from her own father!

The river gleamed invitingly in the distance between the redbrick houses, and she made towards it. But she'd taken only a few steps before he was at her elbow again, and this time he threw himself in front of her path, effectively blocking her way, and she almost collided with his chest in her haste to push forward.

"Natsu!"

Grabbing hold of her shoulders, Natsu steadied her, meeting her unwilling gaze with his own as she glared at him. "Let me _go_–"

"You didn't say no."

She startled, and then her brows furrowed. "That's not the point! The _point_–"

"You didn't say no," he repeated, a grin tugging at his lips. "You still haven't said no."

She seethed, and her shoulders shook. "Why?" she snapped. "Why would you put me in that situation?"

"Because I didn't want to lose you."

The next word on the way off her tongue was swallowed before she could speak it, and she stared at him incredulously. "So you want me to marry you because you don't want me to go away? Is that all?"

He snorted. "No. What are ya, thick? I want to marry ya because you're you."

She looked at him, disbelieving, and shook her head. "But...no. _No_. You are not allowed to say that!" She threw a hand in the direction of her father's house. _"He_ wants me to marry, Natsu. Someone _he's_ picked. He'll never accept it, even if I said yes."

"You haven't said no."

"_Not the point!"_

He grinned. "And yer old man's already accepted it, so what are ya complaining about?"

"And– What?"

Natsu shrugged. "I asked him after you left, and he said it was okay."

She blinked rapidly. "Huh? No. No, that's not _possible._ You're–"

"My dad used ta be a big business guy before he left," Natsu said with another shrug, rubbing the back of his neck, as though the subject was an uncomfortable one. "Uh, he left me money. I don't know exactly how much – the geezer knows; he's taking care of it for me – but when your old man asked and I said Pops' name he seemed pretty pleased about it. Said it was more than okay." He shrugged again, for good measure.

Lucy was still gaping at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. "W-What are you saying?"

His grin was mischievous, and he raised a mocking brow. "Don't tell me you're gonna accept now that you know I've got rubes, Luce."

"I haven't accepted anything!"

"You still haven't said no."

"Damn it, Natsu!" she made a swipe after him, but he ducked away from her, laughing, one hand on his head to keep his sixpence in place. Her face was flushed with anger and her heart was hammering in her chest, and when he was _looking at her like that... _

"You're not _serious_."

He raised a brow. "What?"

She squared her shoulders. "You're not serious. You like me? Fine, but do you like me enough to spend the rest of your life with me? Do you even know what it would mean, getting married?"

He grinned. "Yeah."

"No!"

He frowned. "Why're you arguing when I'm telling you I know what it means?"

She felt like tearing at her hair. "It's not that simple! You can't just _decide–"_

"You were about to accept a guy you've never met, because that's what your old man wanted."

Her mouth snapped shut, and then she opened it again, "Yes, but that's different."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "How?"

"That's...I had...I don't need to explain myself to you!" Her fingers twitched against her sides, and she picked up her frock as she started walking again, moving towards the river.

"You didn't want to."

"No, but that's–"

"What do ya want, Luce?"

She stopped at that; the words seeming to strike her as a physical blow, and she halted on the pavement. In front of her the glittering expanse of the river gleamed in the light of the setting sun. There were only a few people about and some of them spared curious glances at the scene she was making, but she found that she didn't really care anymore if she embarrassed herself publicly.

What did she want? No one had ever asked her that before, at least not in the way Natsu just had. Like she had a choice in the matter. Like she could have her way if she wanted to.

"I..."

She felt him step up beside her, hands still stuffed in his pockets. She didn't remove her eyes from the glittering surface of the water, but she could feel his gaze on her, and ducked her head, her hair falling into her face. "I can't answer that," she said finally.

"Why?"

She shook her head. "I don't have the privilege to _choose, _Natsu. That's not how it works. You can't just come in and try to change everything. Just because you think you know what you want–"

"I _know_ what I want," he said. "I'm asking you what _you_ want."

She looked up at that, meeting his honest gaze, and the words stumbled off her tongue before she could stop them. "Freedom. I...I want freedom." And all at once, it was like a lock had come loose somewhere within her, and suddenly she found herself speaking her mind; the thoughts she had kept to herself so long because they had been such foolish fancies spilling out before she could stop them. "I want to write, and live the way I wish. I don't want to be a pretty prize on someone's arm, or a housewife cooking meals at home. I...I want to be _me_. Wholly me, and I...I want someone who wants me despite that. Someone who wants me for me."

Her cheeks flushed at her selfish admission, and she looked away, embarrassed at her own audacity, even to someone as free with their thoughts as the man before her.

"Good."

She frowned, and looked up, a reprimand at the tip of her tongue for his confusing behaviour – as well as his cheek earlier by proposing in front of her father – but any coherent thoughts she might have entertained left her mind completely when his hand came up to catch her chin between a pair of rough fingers, and before she could react properly he'd leaned down and kissed her.

Warmth shot from her toes and up her spine as he pressed his mouth against hers, and she drew in a startled breath, eyes flying wide at the not just obvious breach of propriety, but in _public_, no less!

But her anger was draining away, and her white-knuckled grip on her frock loosened as he tugged her closer. Pressing a hand against his chest to steady herself, she was at once very aware of how warm he was, despite the slight chill in the air.

She'd been on the verge of completely giving in when he pulled back suddenly, and her eyes fluttered open to meet his. He grinned.

"D'ya really think I'd want to marry you if you weren't _you, _Luce?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, and licked her lips nervously. "I don't..."

Natsu grinned, and his fingers released her chin, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear before letting his hand drop to catch hers where it hung limply against her side. He tilted his head. "So whaddaya say, Luce?" he asked, teeth flashing in another grin.

"Marry me?"

It wasn't anything like she'd imagined it would be. Then again, she'd imagined something quite different. It would have been like earlier, with her father alerting her of a suitor, and then listing the qualities of the man he'd chosen whose name and inheritance would greatly benefit the future of the Heartfilia name and legacy. She'd tentatively accept, and somewhere in the weeks following find herself married to a husband she'd just met, who had eyes for the stock exchange rather than her, and who'd soon tire and find himself a mistress to entertain him when Lucy eventually lost her charm.

She'd never imagined actually hearing the question asked, for her to choose as she pleased, let alone from someone like the man before her. Someone she'd come to trust with not just her life, but her innermost fears and dreams. And none of it had pushed him away. He hadn't had to follow her into her father's study; hadn't had to ask her to marry him. He could have left her to her fate and they would have gone their separate ways.

But he hadn't.

Natsu titled his head to the side, and his smile was mischievous. "You still haven't said no," he observed.

And Lucy couldn't have kept the smile off her face if she'd tried.

"No," she said, her grin widening. "I haven't."

He raised his brows – the question apparent, and she laughed. Hand curling around one of his suspenders, Lucy raised a challenging brow in turn as she tugged him down. "Are you really aware of what you're asking?"

He grinned, his mouth a breath away from hers. "Ya still think I'm not?"

"Could've fooled me."

He laughed, and she felt it reverberate through his chest where she gripped his shirt and suspender. "You're an oddball, Luce," he declared.

She smiled. "You still want to marry me." It wasn't a question this time.

The grin on his face told her he'd caught on. "Yup!"

Still smiling, Lucy rose to her toes, pressing her lips against his, and this time he caught her around the waist, hoisting her up and spinning her in a circle. She yelped and shrieked, but it dissolved into laughter as she steadied herself, gripping his shoulders as she broke the kiss. "Easy, you lollygagger! You'd give a girl a heart-attack with less!"

"Still waiting for an answer, Luce," he said, grinning up at her from where he had her in his grip, and Lucy was aware of the people who'd stopped to look. She smoothed her hands against his shirt.

"You said you were rich, right?"

"Luce..."

She laughed, and poked a gloved finger against his forehead. "Don't think you're off the hook for what you pulled earlier," she warned him.

He shrugged. "I don't regret it."

Her eyes softened, and a small smile tugged on her lips. "No. You wouldn't, would you?"

His hands loosened around her as he set her down on her feet, but he didn't release her completely, and she couldn't be bothered at the curious murmurs from around them anymore. "So?" he asked. "You ever going to answer?" The sun caught in his hair, making the rosy colour flare like white-hot flames, and Lucy pressed her palm flat against his chest, smiling up at him.

"_Yes_. I'll marry you, you oddball," she said, her grin turning mischievous, and she saw his brows furrow at the look on her face, but he didn't have a chance to question what she was planning before she'd taken a step forward, hand splayed flat against the middle of his chest. "But if I'm marrying you, I want us to be on equal ground. So let's get even, first, hmm?"

He blinked. "Even? What–"

Before he could finish his sentence, Lucy shifted her weight, shoving with all the strength she had...

...and stepped back as Natsu toppled backwards, shouting and flailing into the watery embrace of the Magnolia River.

* * *

"Mr. Heartfilia, what...what just happened?"

Jude Heartfilia did not raise his eyes from the papers on the desk in front of him. "My daughter is getting married. Did you not hear?" He didn't need to look up to know there was an expression of disbelief on his valet's face.

"But–but _Sir_. The young man– that _rascal–"_

"Is to be my future son-in-law. Now, unless you have more pressing issues to attend to, I'd like my tea in the garden today."

"Y-yes, Sir. Quite alright, Sir. I'll...I'll go let the cook know."

"Good."

The shuffle of feet and the closing of the open door followed, before he was left to himself, and only when the door had fully closed did Jude lift his gaze from the document before him. Releasing a deep sigh, he felt a smile tug at his lips, and shook his head with a brusque laugh. Shifting his gaze to the old photograph sitting at the very edge of his desk, he brushed the thin layer of dust from the frame. Next to the well-preserved portraits of his late wife and his daughter, the picture looked old. And it was – it had been with him nearly two decades, and had not always been in a frame. But despite the evidence of folding and general wear and tear, the smiling faces of the two young men in the picture were as bright as the day the photograph had been taken. And though black-and-white, he could conjure the memory of his old friend's flaming red hair without much effort. He laughed softly.

"My, my, Igneel old boy. Who could have imagined this?"

* * *

AN: And we come full circle with these two! They've been such a joy to write, and I'm glad so many of you have enjoyed these small, easygoing interludes to the main plot. And **if you're confused about Natsu's past**, in this AU Natsu refers to his dad as having "left" in order to avoid saying that he "died", because that's how he's always coped with it. After Igneel's death, Natsu ran away and ended up on the streets, and having known Igneel well, Makarov set about looking for his son. After searching for years, he finally found him, and that's where he's been ever since. Natsu's also grown so used to being a street-rat that that's what he considers himself, which is why people don't know he's actually an heir.

Next: All is not what it seems, and Levy finds out the hard way.

**rubes**: money

**lollygagger**: person who enjoys making out


	30. strike-me-dead

AN: 30 chapters, people, would you believe it? It's crazy; I'd only imagined around fifteen when I first started writing this last year. Anyway, my deepest apologies for the severe lack of updates lately. Not only did I do the mistake of falling head first and over heels into another fandom, but on top of that I've had work up to my ears these past few weeks. I'll try to not let it go too long between updates after this, but I can only do so much when I've got dissertations to write.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXX**

"He's _late."_

Toying with a loose button on one of her gloves, Levy shrugged, raising her eyes to meet Lucy's in the mirror behind the bar, where the blonde was busy fixing her hair. "I don't mind."

"He's over an hour late," Lucy mused as she nudged an errant lock into the confines of her hat.

Levy shot her friend a look from where she sat on the other side of the bar. "He had something to discuss with Lily – I'm sure he just lost track of time. And I'm not so impatient I'll cast a kitten over it."

Lucy grinned, and turned her head to inspect her hair. "Suit yourself. You ready, Cana?"

"Hold yer horses, Princess, and give a gal a minute!" came the holler from somewhere in the back, and Lucy shook her head, turning back to Levy, who sat desolate on one of the barstools. Some of the girls were going out for the night, and though she'd been invited, she'd already made plans with Gajeel to go to one of the new pictures. He'd told her he was going to pick her up at seven, but it was past eight already and the place was clearing out now that Cana and the others were getting ready to leave. Levy tried not to look too bothered about it.

"You going to be okay?" Lucy asked, no doubt noticing the poor attempt at a convincing smile.

Levy tried not to grimace, and smoothed her hands over the skirt of her new dress. "Of course. I'm sure he'll be here any minute."

"You could come with us, you know," Lucy said, nodding at Cana as she emerged from the back of the room, busy fastening a bejewelled headband across her forehead. The brunette threw Levy a glance and a wink.

"Yeah, doll, come join us! You've already got them glad-rags on, anyway. Ditch that rag-a-muffin for the night; we'll show you a good time, slap a genuine smile on yer face rather than the one yer tryin' to pull off." She smirked, crossing her arms over her chest for emphasis. "Whadday say?"

"Juvia would like Levy to come along," Juvia spoke as she wandered up to the bar. "She is sure Gajeel wouldn't mind if Levy left a note."

"He _is_ late," Cana agreed. "Would only serve him right. C'mon, dollface. Let's hit the town!"

Levy shook her head, and tried to valiantly push down the desire to take them up on their offer. "I told you, I already have plans. And I'm sure he'll be here soon. Have fun, yeah?"

Cana sighed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips. "Guess it can't be helped. Help yourself to a drink while ya wait, girly – the rum's in the bottom cabinet. Ya ready ta go, Blondie? I told Mira we'd meet her downtown half past, and we'll need the time if we're gonna walk. I ain't got the car tonight. Old man's not trustin' me with it if I'm gonna be drinking." The last part was muttered under her breath.

Lucy threw Levy one last questioning look, to which she responded with an ushering motion towards the door. "_Go_. I'll be fine. Enjoy yourselves, and tell me about it tomorrow."

She didn't look convinced in the least. "You're absolutely sure?"

"_Yes!_"

It took them a good five more minutes before they were all ready to go, ushered outside by Lucy, elbows linked and laughing, and Levy watched them go with a solemn smile, before her eyes were once again drawn towards the clock on the wall. Now that she was alone, the steady _tick-tick-tick_ seemed unusually loud in the large and empty establishment, and her fingers twitched where they were splayed across her lap. It_was_ getting late – oddly so, for Gajeel, who was usually very punctual. Worry crawled in the pit of her stomach, but she forced it down, knowing it wasn't going to do her any good. He was at the Pit still, no doubt, and would tell her so when he got back and caught on to the fact that she'd worried. And they still had time to catch the picture, anyway, so what if he was a little late in picking her up?

The idleness was making her itch, though, and so instead of sitting around by herself Levy figured that she might as well have something productive to do while she waited. Sliding down from the barstool, she made for the stairs to the upper floors and the room she shared with Lucy, intent on finding something to read.

Leaving the door open behind her as she entered, she dropped her purse on the bed, before setting about rifling through the small bookcase that held her only private possessions in life save the clothes on her back; the remains of her father's once extensive library, reduced to only a few volumes.

She tried not to think too much about _that, _pushing the thought to the back of her mind to keep her worry company as her gloved hands slid over familiar spines in search of a book she hadn't re-read several times already. She should have asked Gajeel to take her to the library like Loke had done that time, but with all that had happened in the last few weeks, the thought had completely escaped her.

She'd just pulled out an old, well-worn novel when something in her peripheral vision caught her eye, and she turned towards her nightstand, brows furrowing at the sight of the slip of white paper sitting innocently by her spectacles. Frowning, she rose from her squat, her selected book tucked under her arm as she picked up the note. The elegant scrawl was unfamiliar, and most definitely _not_ Gajeel's–

_Miss McGarden,_

_My apologies for disrupting your plans for the evening, but I would be delighted if you would stop by my estate._

Hands shaking, she flipped the note over, and her heart dropped into her stomach. The book slipped from her grip, landing spine-down on the floor by the bed, but she ignored it, making a grab for her purse and the gun snug in its confines before making a run for the door, the note forgotten on the bed.

_...I have someone you might be missing._

* * *

The fact that she'd run out, unaccompanied into the city streets at night didn't hit her until she was well out of the Alleys; when the lights and sounds of the city square hit her like a bucket of cold water. But she didn't have time for second thoughts, let alone the luxury to doubt her own actions.

Ducking into the shadows clinging to the brick wall that lined the street to her right, Levy kept her head down, pulling her hat low to cover her face as she pushed forward. The last thing she needed was to run into someone who recognised her; the thought to even look for someone at the speakeasy to accompany her hadn't even crossed her mind. If Ivan was anything like the man she had come to know from Gajeel, he wouldn't take kindly to her bringing someone with her. The 'come alone' had been as explicit in the note as if he'd written it down, and she wasn't about to risk her luck by involving anyone else.

Especially considering whose life was on the line.

_Of course it was Ivan,_ the dark thought slithered in amongst the chaotic jumble of her mind. It was always Ivan when Gajeel was concerned. She should have known – he'd been over an hour late. Lily would never have kept him so late, or he would have sent someone to tell her, at the very least! She should have thought of it sooner; should have _realized_...

Fingers tightening around her purse and the hard steel of the gun inside, Levy rounded the corner that would take her out of the city square and towards the outskirts, where the estates of the wealthy dotted the street like smooth jewels in perfectly aligned rows; the crown of Magnolia Town. Her father's old estate – sold now, no doubt – but also the Dreyar manse, and at the very end, Lucy's home. It was where the better half lived, and where Levy herself had once lived. She'd thought of coming back one day, but not like _this,_ sneaking in like a thief in the night. She'd wanted to come back when she'd righted the wrongs of her life – not to potentially relieve the night that had landed her in her new situation in the first place; watching the person closest to her shot dead before her eyes.

She shook her head to rid herself of the thought. It wouldn't be like that. _Not this time._ She wouldn't let it happen again.

Drawing a sharp breath, she picked up her pace, moving close to the walls of the buildings and staying in the shadows until the paved road curving towards the city outskirts came into view, and the stillness of the night finally settled over her. No cars were out this late in this part of the city, and the lights lining the street were lit, casting a soft glow onto the pristine and clean pavement. It was nothing like the heart of the bustling town she had just left behind, and she could hear the muted sounds as they drifted towards her, huddled as she was in the shadows.

Stepping out into the glow of the lights, Levy righted her spine, and walked with purpose towards the house she knew to be Ivan's. Better to appear as though she had a right to be there, than be caught sneaking around; she had not time to make mistakes. Her heart thundered in her hears, and by the time she'd reached the looming iron gates of the Dreyar manse the thin fabric of her dress was soaked through with cold sweat. Tugging her coat closer, she shifted the weight of her purse around her shoulders so it rested against her hip, before walking up to the gates. There was no keeper at the front, and it stood ajar almost invitingly. The message was clear enough.

She was expected.

The gate screeched softly as she pushed it open far enough for her to slip inside, and she swallowed the fear creeping up to the base of her throat as she walked resolutely up the driveway towards the front doors. Ignoring the knocker, she went straight for the handle, and was not surprised to find it unlocked. All her movements felt jarring and mechanical, like she was forcing her body to move against its better judgement.

_Breathe, _she reminded herself, and had to command her lungs to exhale, although it made her physically ill. Stepping inside the foyer, she left the door ajar, allowing the sliver of light from outside to spill into the dark and empty entrance hall. No one had come to greet her yet, and she took it as yet another sign that he was waiting for her to come to him. The heels of her shoes clicked loudly against the tiled floor as she made towards the curving staircase at the other end of the foyer, and she had to grip her purse tightly to make her hands stop shaking. Around her, the estate was almost too quiet, as though she'd walked into a tomb rather than a house.

The staircase seemed a mile long as it stretched upwards before her, but she pushed on forward, willing her legs to keep moving, to keep taking step by step, heart in her throat and the gun heavy against her hip. When she finally reached the top, a long hallway stretched out before her, dark save the glimmer of light at the far end.

_A fitting analogy, _the morbid thought slipped in amongst her turmoil, but she only hesitated for a second before picking up her pace, her footsteps muffled by the rich red carpet covering the path before her.

She didn't rightly know what she'd expected when she'd taken off on her own, but in retrospect, what she discovered wasn't all that surprising. Having reached the end of the corridor, she paused to draw a deep breath before pushing the door further open, making some of the light spill out and into the darkness around her.

_The library. Of course it is. _

The thought settled with an almost detached calmness, although her heart was racing behind her ribcage, until she thought he must surely hear it where he was standing, admiring the crackling fireplace at the other end of the room.

He didn't even turn around to acknowledge her presence, only lifted the drink in his hand to his lips, taking a long sip. "You are late," he mused, and his voice seemed very loud in the quiet of the room, cutting through the air and the soft crackle of the fire. "You've been patient, for a woman. Anyone else would have given up waiting _much_ earlier," he continued, finally turning around to regard her, head cocked to the side almost contemplatively. "Although remembering your father, that is no surprise. The fool was too patient for his own good."

Caught and held by his stare, Levy could not even react to the insult, standing like a rigid statue in the open doorway. Ivan smirked. "My, but you are quiet. A good trait, though I'm afraid it won't win you any favours now." Brushing a speck of dust off the shoulder of his suit, he sighed. "Such a waste, really. A quiet woman's a rare sight these days. They're all so _brash_. Smoking, drinking, _driving_. God knows what they'll be doing next, _voting?_ Ridiculous. Who would want such a woman?" He shook his head.

"Where–" Levy stopped, the words lodging in her throat, refusing to be spoken.

Ivan's smile was condescending. "Where...? Where is _Gajeel_? Is that what you were going to ask?"

She didn't nod, but then she didn't have to. Ivan's smile widened. "Oh, my _pet._ Have you learned nothing of the world?"

Levy frowned, and he laughed, as though she had done something particularly funny. "I believe this is what they would call 'a trap'," he declared then, with a mock bow. "Not my most devious, I confess, but a success, judging by the look on your face. 'Oh no', you must be thinking. 'No Gajeel?' And you who came here all alone." He clucked his tongue and sneered. "A woman rescuing a man. How very _modern."_

Levy shook her head, the panic welling up within her making his words hard to register. "Then...where is he?" Why had he been late? Why hadn't he–

Ivan shrugged, interrupting her thoughts. "I sent him off on an errand. I guess his note to you was...intercepted. That happens sometimes. What matters is that I got you here without too much fuss, and look, you needed no further incentive!" He shook his head with a sigh. "Foolish girl. Loyal, I'll give you that, but foolish."

Her blood boiled and her cheeks flared with embarrassment, but she stood her ground. Ivan looked around him, smiling, as though pleased by his own accomplishment. He gestured to the room, and the rows of books lining the walls. "Do you like it? I'm a man of details, as you know. I thought it was fitting. Your father would go on and _on_ about your love of literature, it was rather annoying. Ah, and as I remember, the library was where you were hiding, was it not...?"

Levy said nothing, only continued to stare as he made a stroll about the room, admiring his collection. "You must be thinking, 'how did he know?' Although you should not be so surprised." He turned to her, and this time the humour was gone from his face. "I know more than I let on – _that_, you should have learned by now as well. Oh, I knew, but that you would take the information to my father?" He shook his head. "Foolish little lamb."

Her hands felt clammy. "How do you know about that?" she asked finally.

Ivan scoffed. "Do you think the old man is the only one with ears within enemy lines? And don't be naïve and think I didn't know who your little _mongrel_ was really working for. But I've had others," he said, and the grin that curled along his lips was anything but pleasant. "Amongst the mob, you see. I am not the only one with a grudge against the geezer. All I had to do was find a kindred spirit, and voilà! Oh, and they've given me the most _interesting_ pieces of information. Did the conniving old goat really think he could keep his plans from me? And _you,_ oh, Levy. Levy, Levy, _Levy_." He shook his head. "And to think, I was going to let you _live."_

Her hands shook, but she kept them clenched around her purse. "What changed your mind?" she asked, and her voice wavered surprisingly little.

Ivan barked a laugh. "Are you so dense, or do you pretend just to amuse me? Did you really think I would not discover your intentions?" He shook his head again. "Business is not place for a lady to stick her nose, and you should have kept _yours_ in your books. That way, you could have lived a long happy life."

Levy bristled at that. "My fortune was not yours to take. This _is_ my business!" she snapped, his remark pushing her almost violently out of her daze as anger flared within her.

Ivan's expression darkened. "And that is why you must go. You've proven to be a nuisance, and I shall deal with you accordingly."

The click of the gun reached her ears before she'd even realized he'd drawn it, and her eyes widened as she found herself staring down the barrel pointed at her head, her father's last moments a continuous loop before her eyes as the morbid realization dawned on her that these were _hers_.

But just as the thought settled within her that _this is it_, another followed right at its heels, clearing her head enough for her to see past the resignation that had overtaken her without her consent. What was she doing, giving up like some...some _damsel_? He was the one in the wrong; her business was her own to stick her nose into, and she had done so knowing the consequences she would have to face. He was right in that she could have kept away and lived a long and happy life, but she hadn't.

And if she had learned one thing from her months with Fairy Tail, it was that succumbing to one's fate, whatever it might be, was quite out of the question. If Gajeel could be held at gunpoint and fight his way out of a criminal-infested hive with his bare hands, then a single man shouldn't be a problem, even if she was_ just a woman. _

Ivan smirked, finger poised on the trigger. "I decided this would be a good way for you to go," he said, his words slow and sweet like honey, laced with poison. "Nice and _nostalgic–_"

She'd moved even before she was aware of it, throwing herself to the ground as the gun went off, rolling across the floor towards the chaise lounge sitting at her left just as the bullet grazed her shoulder. A cry of pain tore itself from her lips, and she clamped a hand over the wound in reflex; wincing as she felt the blood well up between her gloved fingers, soaking the fabric of her dress. She heard Ivan curse, before reloading the gun, but she was on her feet in an instant, hurtling herself backwards and into the corridor just as another shot rang out, hitting the doorway as she passed through, stumbling wildly into the dark.

And then she _ran_.

The carpet was soft beneath her erratic steps, and she nearly tripped over her own feet as she sprinted down the dark hallway. Her heart was in her throat and her breath tore its way out of her lungs as she hurtled forward. Panic surged like ice through her veins, spreading like cold sweat across her body, all apart from the searing wound in her shoulder that throbbed with every movement. A sob caught in her throat at the pain, but she kept the tears back stubbornly as she ran, all but throwing herself around the first corner and down another empty hallway, shaking hands frantically searching out the doors lining the walls left and right.

Her first attempt yielded nothing, and she moved to the next, and the next, and the next, a sob finally escaping her when none of the handles gave way. Her bloodied fingers left red smears on the pale wooden frames, but she didn't have time or mind to fret about leaving a trail. She couldn't hear Ivan approaching, no doubt due to the carpets lining the corridors, but she knew he had to be, and ignoring the blood dripping down the length of her arm, Levy abandoned her search for an open door, picked up her skirts and ran.

The next corner took her down another hallway, and she barely saw where she was going, intent on just putting distance between herself and Ivan. The hallway ended in a split, and she hesitated only for a moment before taking the left corridor, at the end of which she spotted a staircase. She sprinted towards it, taking the steps in leaps and yelping in surprise when her shoe caught in the hem of her dress, causing her to fall down the last few steps. The carpet softened the impact, but landing on her injured shoulder had her crying out and her vision swimming, and when she tumbled off the last step, her head struck hard against the tiled floor that welcomed her tumultuous descent.

Her vision spun violently and she felt like vomiting, but she pushed herself to her feet. She was still bleeding, but the dark red of the carpet masked the blood and muffled her steps as she ran across the room towards the grand door looming invitingly on the other side. She didn't know where she was going, or even which part of the house she was in, but she didn't have the luxury of stopping to look around. She should have gone back down the first flight of stairs, the one she'd come up when she'd first entered, but she'd been in such a state when she'd run from the library she hadn't been thinking straight. All she knew now was that she had to get _outside_. If she got out, she could scream for help; Ivan wouldn't do her harm if there was a chance he'd be discovered as the culprit.

The door opened without trouble, revealing another corridor with more doors lining the walls, and she didn't pause before running towards the first, and the second, and the third, tearing at the handles in her need to _find a way out_, moving from one to the next with only one thought in mind. Panic drove her forward, kept her moving despite the pain in her shoulder. Her vision was blurry with tears and wild strands of hair, and she wiped at her eyes, hissing when she only succeeded in smearing blood across her face. _Damn it! _

Finally, a door gave way to her insistence, and she threw herself inside, slamming it behind her and running across the room to find a window–

–only to discover that there were none. Only paintings lined the walls, and no other doors than the one at her back.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she realized she had effectively driven herself into a corner, but she had just turned around to leave when the muffled sound of footsteps reached her from the other side. There hadn't been a carpet lining the floor of the corridor, she realized with a start, and she could almost see him stopping to follow with his eyes the trail of blood along the floor and the door frames, that sickeningly pleased smile on his face...

Before she knew what she was doing she was running towards the great mahogany desk at the far end of the room, and she'd just dived behind it when she heard the handle turn on the door. Hands covering her head, Levy held her breath, teeth clamped down on her bottom lip to keep from sobbing. Tears leaked down the sides of her face and her lungs burned, but she stubbornly kept herself from making a sound. She heard the door close, the click of the lock ringing in her ears like the bell at a boxing match, followed by slow, measured footsteps across the hardwood floor.

And then it was quiet. She couldn't even hear him breathe; could only hear her own blood as it thundered in her ears, and for a moment she wondered if she'd gone _deaf_–

"Playing hide-and-seek, are you, little lamb?"

The voice tore through the quiet, and Levy bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. She heard him tut. "I'm usually very fond of games, but my patience is running thin tonight. We have played long enough, don't you think?"

He knew where she was. There was enough blood on the floor to lead him right to her, and yet even now he was keeping up appearances. The thought made her both angry and despaired, huddled as she was with only a wooden desk for protection–

Her eyes flew open just as the thought registered, and it was like the gun in her purse had gained several pounds for the way she felt its weight against her hip.

"Time to give up, Miss McGarden," Ivan said, and Levy swallowed the lump in her throat, trembling hands reaching for her purse. Her fingers found the gun, curling around the cold metal as she pulled it out, all the while her training with Gajeel played like a moving picture in her focused, back straight, arms out, careful, recoil, gun hand, supporting hand, _aim–_

_Now! _

She jumped to her feet, spinning around and lifting the gun in one flowing movement, stopping only with a single breath to aim before pulling the trigger. The impact had her arms recoiling, and she yelled, nearly dropping the gun as her injured shoulder _tore_ like it was about to dislocate completely.

But the bullet missed, striking the wall behind Ivan's head as he threw himself out of the way, and Levy watched him rise to his feet, eyes alight with a madness that had her backing away. She didn't lower her weapon, but kept it aimed at his head.

He sneered, but kept his gun aimed at her in return. "Well, well. I guess you have learned a little about the world after all." He glared, eyeing the gun in her grip. "Unusual for a woman, to carry a gun. Was this your intention all along? How cunning."

Levy met his glare with her own, ignoring the pain in her shoulder and the nausea roiling in her stomach. "You think so little of my sex you thought I would come empty-handed?"

He smirked. "I admit you have me surprised, yet that will not help you much now."

Levy's fingers tightened around the gun. "I'll shoot you first."

Ivan snorted. "With your aim? Hardly. You might have learned the technicalities, _girl_, but you might as well be holding a _toy_ for all you know about it."

Something righteous surged within her at that. "You speak like _you_ know, but I'm not dead yet. You missed!"

She saw his fingers twitch around the gun in his hands, and he snarled, "You insolent little–"

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence before the lock on the door behind him exploded into splinters of wood and metal, followed by the door slamming open, thrown against the wall with enough force to tear it from its hinges. Levy's heart leapt in her chest.

"Found yer note," Gajeel snarled as he stepped inside, gun in hand and aimed at Ivan, and Levy felt like vomiting for the sheer relief that coursed through her. She saw him throw a glance in her direction from out the corner of his eye, and watched his brows furrow, no doubt at the sight of the blood. If he'd found them, he must have followed her tracks. She probably looked like a right mess.

"You okay, Shorty?"

She had to swallow in order to get the words past the lump in her throat. "Y-yeah," she croaked. "Just a scratch." It felt like her arm was about to fall off, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Juvia had been able to fight her way out of Jose's place with a bullet in her shoulder, and Levy refused to succumb to a mere graze. Even if she felt like she was about to pass out from the pain.

Gajeel didn't look like he believed her for a second, and he levelled a dark glower at Ivan. "That's the final straw for you, ya nutter. I'll have yer head fer that!"

Ivan snorted. "Don't act as though she is without blame in this. She could have held her tongue, and I would have left her alone. From what I could tell, she was doing well without her fortune. Or was I wrong?" The last question was directed at Levy. "Were you so eager to get your inheritance back?" He grinned then. "Ah, but it is not so strange, is it? A woman like you, settling for a life in the gutters? With _him_?" He nodded towards Gajeel, whose hand tightened around his gun. "No wonder you couldn't stay away."

Levy's anger bubbled up. "That's a lie!"

Ivan merely raised a brow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Shut yer trap, Ivan," Gajeel snarled. "I ain't fallin' for yer crap." His finger pressed down on the trigger. "One wrong move and I'll decorate the wall with yer head."

A smile curled along Ivan's lips. "A nice addition to the rest of the blood covering my floors, I'm sure. A shame I couldn't finish her off properly, but you've taught her well. Yet another _surprise._ You had no patience for the upper class, from what I remember."

Levy's hands shook with her anger. Held at gunpoint, he was still spinning his web of deceit, trying to put them against each other; to instil once again the prejudice and hatred that had marked their first meeting.

Gajeel snarled. "Upper class, yeah. _Her_, another story. And I've worked for ya too long to take anything you say seriously, ya damn loon. Ya listening to this, Levy?"

"Not a word," she ground out.

"Ya hear that, Ivan?" Gajeel smirked. "Not gonna work this time. Yer a rat caught in yer own trap." His brows furrowed sharply. "And if ya so much as _twitch_ I'll put a bullet between yer eyes before you can blink."

Ivan said nothing, and seemed for a moment to be listening for something. Then he smiled, as though privy to some private joke. With a sigh, he lowered his gun, letting his arm drop against his side. "Gajeel. Always so _brash._ You _really_ should know better by now."

Levy saw the shadows behind Gajeel move, but hadn't the chance to call out before a flash of red erupted like flames from the darkness, and before she knew what had happened, a slim, red-headed woman had knocked Gajeel's gun from his hands, before landing a swift kick to his jaw. Levy yelled, but Ivan proffered his gun again, and she froze in her tracks, hands shaking where her fingers gripped her own weapon.

The redhead aimed her own gun coolly at Gajeel where he was sprawled on the floor, holding himself up with his elbow. Blood trickled down his chin from a cut in his lip to fall against his chest, the droplets stark against the white fabric of his shirt.

"Flare dear," Ivan cooed, bending down to retrieve Gajeel's gun where he'd dropped it, all the while keeping his own aimed at Levy. "Always on time. _Good girl._"

Lifting the heavy weapon – _his father's gun_, Levy realized with a start – Ivan tutted. "You should know, Gajeel, that rats are awfully clever creatures." He grinned as he stepped towards him, placing a foot on his stomach almost gingerly, just above the recently healed wound in his side. Gajeel hissed when he applied more pressure, and Levy flinched.

"Gajeel, Gajeel. How far you have fallen. And you were such a _good_ little errand boy." He sent a grin Levy's way. "Drop the gun, dear. If you shoot me, Flare won't hesitate to shoot _him._ What's more important to you? Revenge...or your mongrel?"

Tears leaked from her eyes down the sides of her face, and before she could stop herself, her eyes moved to meet Gajeel's, leaving Ivan and the barrel of the gun aimed at her head. Terror raced across his face, and she realized a second too late she had taken her eyes off her opponent.

"_**Levy!" **_

The gun went off before she could open her mouth to scream.

* * *

AN: HAR HAR HAR HAR.

**strike-me-dead**: bootleg liquor

**cast a kitten**: throw a fit


	31. doublecross my heart

AN: I'd like to say I'm sorry for the last cliffhanger, but I'm not; I get way too much enjoyment from this, and _no_, that does not reflect well on my sanity, but hey, that ship has sailed long ago, anyway, hurr hurr.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXXI**

"_**Levy!"**_

The horror passing over her face in time with the realization of her mistake had to mirror his own, he knew, but he didn't have the chance to so much as make a desperate move towards her before the gunshot rang out, and his ears exploded with the sound. A howl of pain tore its way from his throat, mingling with the syllables of her name, but then proceeded to die on his lips as the sound of a body hitting the floor followed the blast, registering through the constant _ringing–_

–and he could only watch with detached fascination as blood pooled on the floor beneath his legs, beside which Ivan's still form lay slumped at an awkward angle, Metalicana's gun resting almost innocently beside his upturned palm. Not a finger twitched, but Gajeel had a hard time processing what he was seeing before him. _What the hell_–

Movement beside him caught his gaze then, and he whipped his head around just as the redhead lowered her gun, cold eyes locked on the lifeless form of her boss. There was an unreadable expression on her face as she walked over, stepping nimbly over Gajeel's legs before bending down to place her fingers against Ivan's neck. The reality of the situation refused to dawn on him, and all he could do was stare at her as she withdrew her hand. Straightening back up, she turned her sharp gaze on him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Sorry about the face," she said then, dark eyes on his split lip, though she seemed more amused than apologetic. Still eerily calm, she slipped her gun back into a hidden holster within the confines of her skirt, before brushing her hands over the fabric to smooth out any wrinkles, and it was such a startlingly contradicting gesture, considering the fact that she'd just shot her own boss in cold blood.

As she shifted, some of her hair came loose from its confines, falling against her jawline, and Gajeel's gaze was drawn to the darkened blotches of skin around her temple, as well as the faint, greenish ring around the wrist of her gun-arm, exposed when the sleeve of her blouse slid down as she reached up to tuck the lock of hair behind her ear. Catching his gaze, she lowered her arm to tug the sleeve back down, but not with the same urgency she had done the time in the reception outside Ivan's office. Instead, she casually went about checking the state of her dress, almost as though she was freshening up.

"I wonder if the young master is in need of a secretary," she mused, her eyes crinkling at the corners in the first smile Gajeel had ever seen on her face, save the sickeningly sweet ones she'd used to direct towards the nutter. His mind still hadn't managed to catch up with him, and he still couldn't make himself believe what had just happened, regardless of the blood steadily seeping through the fabric of his trousers.

He hadn't even had a moment to gather his wits before the sound of something hard hitting the floor reached his ears, followed by heels running across hardwood, and before he was even aware of what was happening, a small shape had hurtled itself against him, colliding with his chest with enough force to knock the breath clean from his lungs and almost sending him sprawling on his back. Small arms wound around his neck, squeezing as wisps of unruly blue hair obscured his vision, and his arms reached up in sheer reflex to embrace her in turn, the solid, _breathing_ shape of her. He drew a starved breath, feeling almost like he was resurfacing from a dip in the river, just as the realization that _she was alive _struck him, even harder than she had.

His grip tightened around her, and he felt her breath hitch against the crook of his neck where her head was buried. She was shaking so badly he could feel it reverberate through him, and her heart was a wild thrum against the chest pressed firmly against his. She didn't make a sound, but he felt her tears as they soaked his shirt, and she shook with more than just adrenaline now.

Gajeel said nothing, but kept her close, pushing his nose into her hair in a vain attempt to calm himself down. She was safe. She was alive._She hadn't been shot. _Once realization had finally dawned on him completely, he felt it surge through him with more force than his earlier terror when he'd thought Ivan had been about to land a bullet between her brows. His attention had been snared by the startled look on her face, he hadn't even seen the redhead shift her aim, let alone pull the trigger.

Speaking of the redhead, he heard the click of her heels as she walked past them towards the open doorway and the ruined door hanging limply on its hinges, and caught her glance from out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't have a mind to stop her as she quietly slipped away, her footsteps muffled by the carpeted corridor. Instinct should have spurred him into chasing her down, if only to demand what the hell she was up to, but at that moment he didn't have much thought to spare anything but the woman in his arms.

So Gajeel said nothing, and made no effort to move from where they sat, content for the moment just to catch his breath and let his heart slow down to a manageable pace. Since coming home from the impromptu errand Ivan had sent him on, to find the speakeasy empty and the note by Levy's bed, he'd barely had the time to take a breath in his hurry to get to the mansion. The old man would more than box his ears when he found he'd snagged the car on his way, but at the time his thoughts had been about getting to Ivan's estate, and it would have taken him too long on foot.

He almost dreaded thinking about what would have happened if he hadn't reached them in time.

Remembering the blood trail that had led him to the study in the first place finally snapped him out of his relieved daze, and his hands gripped her shoulders suddenly – a mistake, he found, when she yelled out in pain, her arms disentangling from his neck as her hand flew to cover what he realized was a still bleeding wound in her upper arm.

Cursing under his breath, Gajeel reached for her fingers, the white suede gloves soaked through with fresh and dried blood, and pried them away so he could look at the wound. He exhaled a ragged breath at the realization that it was a graze and that he wouldn't have to pick a bullet out of it, but against her slim arm it looked worse than any wound of the sort he'd ever had. The fabric of her blouse was torn and blood had soaked through the sleeve and most of the dress itself, the red and brown stark against the once pristine white.

"Any more?" he asked, voice hoarse as he felt a surge of indignation that he hadn't been allowed to shoot the bastard himself. Eyes finding her face, his brows furrowed further at the sight of the blood smeared across the bridge her nose, and the wisps of hair sticking to her brow where an ugly bruise was swelling.

She shook her head wordlessly, glazed eyes still on the wound, and he recognized the stubborn set to her brow that told him she was keeping up appearances. He almost snorted. "Ya don't have to act so damn brave. Hell, I made more fuss than this when ya dragged my ass to the hag after ya got me shot."

She choked a laugh at that, but the tears in her eyes pooled to slide down her cheeks. "_I _got you shot?" she asked, voice a croak laced with a twinge of humour and hysteria.

Gajeel smirked, but said nothing as he set about ripping off a good chunk of his shirt – his _new _shirt_. _He'd gotten itfor the occasion as he'd planned on taking her out, but it was ruined now, which went to show just how incapable he was at keeping nice things. Without asking for permission, knowing she wasn't so prissy about such things anymore, he tore the remains of her sleeve open, exposing the wound, before wrapping the makeshift bandage snugly around it. She hissed, but said nothing else, eyes on his blood-stained fingers as they wound the fabric around her upper arm before securing it tightly. Tears were still running down her cheeks, cutting clear paths through the dried blood, but she didn't seem embarrassed about it anymore. When he was done, his hand lingered against her shoulder, before he let it drop. He drew another shuddering breath, trying not to let on how wound-up he was.

She lifted her gaze to meet his, and though he knew there was only the one wound, the severe amount of blood on her person was enough to make him fidget again. "Are you okay?" she asked then.

Now he did snort. "Yer asking _me_, Shorty?"

She only frowned, reaching out a small hand, and he felt the gloved pads of her fingers brush against the split in his lip, making him curse in surprise at the pain that flared from the touch, and he remembered suddenly the kick the redhead had dealt him when she'd pulled a fast one on them. "Ah." _Fuck. _That was gonna leave one hell of a mark; the woman kicked like a goddamn horse.

Her brows pulled down even further, before her eyes met his again. "I'm sorry."

He raised a brow at that. "The hell are ya sorry for?"

A sheepish look passed over her face, tinged with regret. "For coming here alone. I wasn't thinking, I just..." she shook her head. "I don't know what I was doing. I should have known it would be a trap."

Gajeel studied her face for a moment – the face of a woman who had been prepared to go into the figurative lion's den all by herself just to save his ass, dressed in her finest and armed with a pea-shooter – and knew in that very moment, watching her rub away the blood caking her brow, that he had gone and gotten completely smitten by an upper-class waif.

Admittedly, an upper-class waif prepared to off his pain-in-the-ass of a boss, but an upper-class waif nonetheless.

"W-What are you smiling about?" her voice wavered, and she wiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks, smearing some of the blood in the process.

Gajeel only shook his head, though he couldn't force the smirk off his face, and he saw her own lips quirk into a small smile despite her tears. "Nothin', though ya should probably know I wasn't really thinking when I found the note," he admitted finally.

She raised a brow, and her laugh was something between a sob and a chuckle. "What, _you,_ doing something reckless?"

He glared at her. "Hey! No cheek from you, ya hear? I still owe ya some words fer what ya did."

She stuck her tongue out, before a laugh stumbled off her lips, and the sheer morbidity of the situation became almost comical. "I should have taken Lucy up on her offer," she said through her sobs, and he wondered perhaps if she was going into shock. Her hands were still shaking and her lip trembled, but she was whole, and before he'd had a chance to question his own actions a fierce impulse seized him, and he reached out, hands cradling her face as he pressed his forehead to hers. Silent sobs still wrecked her body, and she sniffled, but he felt her gloved fingers as they came up, trembling, to grasp the front of his shirt.

"Yer crazy, ya know that?" he rasped. "_Fuck_, Levy. I swear to God if ya ever do somethin' like that again–!"

Another laugh-sob fell from her lips, and she nodded her head. "I know. I-I've been told women should be quiet and m-modest. S-sorry."

He snorted, and he hesitated only a moment before letting the words fall from his lips. "Not _my_ woman."

She sniffled, but said nothing to that, and Gajeel felt dread seize him like fingers around the cold handle of a gun. He was almost about to take the words back when she suddenly spoke, voice a soft murmur, and if he hadn't been holding her so close he wouldn't have caught it.

"Careful...you might get what you wish for."

"Yeah?"

He inwardly cursed himself for sounding so damn...so damn _hopeful, _and when she pulled back, lifting her gaze to meet his, he could see the puzzlement clear on her face. He felt sick to his stomach as the urge to ask her something else claimed him. But he couldn't ask her that_now_, though the question was pressing against the base of his throat. Ivan was dead. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he could ask her; it would only take a few words, and an answer in return. It wasn't the ideal setting, but then their world wasn't ideal, either. And neither was their relationship...whatever _that_ was.

But just as the thought had settled, his mind latched onto one of the fleeting realizations that was still taking time to sink in. Ivan was _dead_, and that meant her troubles were over. With Ivan gone, the same went for "Alexei". She could have her company back. Her family's name, her status...

"Gajeel?"

He shook his head, forcing a smirk onto his face although it felt more like a grimace. "'S Nothing."

She titled her head, and for a moment he was afraid she was going to keep pushing, but whatever she'd been about to say was interrupted by muffled footsteps in the hallway. Gajeel straightened in his seat, but relaxed a little when the shape appearing in the open doorway wasn't one of Ivan's minions, but someone else entirely. Someone he hadn't expected, but then that wasn't so surprising, said person taken into consideration. Surprise was an integral part of his acts, from what Gajeel could remember from all his ridiculous shows.

Jellal stepped casually over the threshold, surveying the scene before him with raised brows, before his eyes landed on Gajeel and Levy. "Rough night?"

Gajeel snorted. "Been a right rage."

Two more shapes appeared in the doorway, their approach having been almost too silent for him to hear, but then he'd expected _them_; Jellal was never far away from his posse. Ultear hummed as she stepped over Ivan's body, avoiding the puddle of blood with an almost careless grace.

"Dear me, what a scene," she mused, though at the sight of Levy in Gajeel's grip, dress torn and with blood seeping through the bandage wrapped around her arm, her look softened.

Jellal stepped up beside her, eyes on the slumped form of the former business mogul. A sigh fell from his lips. "Well. Time for a good clean-up." Meredy gave Gajeel a bright smile as she passed them by, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse as she went.

He felt Levy shift in his arms, and watched her search out Ultear's gaze with her own. "W-what are you going to do?"

A sly grin stretched across the painted red lips of the dark haired woman, her cat-like eyes crinkling at the corners as she tugged off the gloves on her hands with a casual efficiently that reminded Gajeel quite vividly just what the trio before them was renowned for. Loke's words from a few nights earlier came drifting back. Had the old man predicted everything? Why did it feel like he'd been kept out of the loop?

As Jellal and Meredy set about moving the body of the man that had held them all in a vice for the last few years, Ultear turned towards the two of them, the grin still in place as though she had come to the part of her job she enjoyed. And knowing her, Gajeel didn't doubt it, but kept his opinions to himself for once. He caught the mischievous glint in her eyes before she turned her attention to Levy with a wink.

"We're gonna clear your name, baby vamp!"

* * *

It wasn't long after the three had gotten down to business before Gajeel, having finally gotten up from the floor, heard more footsteps in the corridor, a moment before Makarov appeared in the doorway with Laxus at his heels. He caught the flash of red, and met the redhead's eyes for a brief second before turning his attention back to his boss, who was watching the pool of blood soaking into the floorboards with an unreadable expression on his face. Jellal and Ultear had carried away the body, and now only Meredy remained, silent on the far side of the room as she unpacked various things from the canvas bag she had carried in.

Finally, Makarov raised his eyes from the floor, meeting Gajeel's where he stood by the desk atop which Levy was seated. His bushy white brows tugged down into a deep frown as he caught sight of the blood and her wrapped arm, and Gajeel could have sworn the old man put on a few years just there and then.

"My girl..."

Gajeel caught Levy's attempted smile from out of the corner of his eye, but he said nothing, gaze finding Laxus' where he lingered behind his grandfather, hands in the pockets of long coat and a hard set to his brows. Catching his look, the blond nodded, and Gajeel returned it without another word.

"You wanna explain what's going on, old man?" he asked then, turning his attention back to his boss. His real boss, and now, his only boss, though the realization still hadn't completely dawned on him. He felt a gloved hand curl around his fingers where he supported his weight on the desk, but he didn't look at her, only tightened his grip in return.

Makarov sighed, before nodding. "I owe you as much, the both of you," he said after a lull, the words heavy, as though they wore him down. "As you have no doubt realized by now, things were set in motion quite some time ago, though we have long searched for an...opportunity, to make our move. To be frank, I had expected something like this. It would have to be so, for us to move against him in this way. We could not have initiated anything unprovoked; the repercussions would have touched everyone, not just me and the company."

Gajeel said nothing, but waited as Makarov continued, casting a glance towards his grandson. "It is not easy, going against your family," he said at length, and his eyes seemed to harden, reminding Gajeel that save Ivan and the Big Cheese on top of the Heartfilia conglomerate, the old man had been amongst the city's toughest businessmen since before he'd even been born. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that the cheerful old geezer who ran the biggest speakeasy in town was also the steel-faced mogul who kept as tight a grip on Magnolia as his son had.

Makarov sighed. "But it had to be done. We could not let Ivan have the run of the city."

Gajeel threw a glance at the pool of blood where the nutter had been sprawled only moments before, brows pulling down into a frown. "And now? Who's taking over the loon's business?"

Makarov looked towards his grandson, and Gajeel saw pride flicker in his eyes. "Laxus will step up as heir to the company, as Ivan always intended. He is the heir, as the will clearly states, though he will not be a puppet on Ivan's strings. The company is his."

Gajeel shifted his weight against the desk. "And Alexei?"

At this, a wry smirk tugged at Makarov's lips, but it was Meredy who spoke, drawing their attentions from where she was, still removing things from the bag at her feet on the other end of the room. "Alexei will meet his demise this very week. A car accident, I believe." She looked up, eyes crinkling at the corners with a secret smile. "You know how unreliable some of the new models can be."

Gajeel suppressed a shudder at the eerily calm way she spoke, and didn't doubt for a second this was precisely why Makarov had called Jellal's team in from halfway across the country. It wasn't only in their magic shows they made things vanish into thin air; the ruse was almost too close to the actual truth.

"And my father's company?"

Levy's query was quiet but her voice was surprisingly steady, drawing his attention along with his gaze, but hers was locked firmly on Makarov. He felt her fingers tighten their grip around his, no doubt in an attempt to stop them from trembling.

It was Laxus who spoke up. "When I take over my new office, I will find some incriminating evidence suggesting my father wasn't running a clean business."

Levy frowned. "Evidence?"

Gajeel raised a brow, finding the plan a little too convenient. "From what I know of the fella, he wasn't one fer leaving _evidence_ just lying around. The hell are ya gonna get that from?"

"Do you remember what Ultear's speciality is, Gajeel?"

His eyes were drawn towards the doorway, where Jellal leaned against the frame, an odd smile on his face. He paused for a second, before it struck him. _Of course. _

"Forgery." He snorted. "Convenient."

Ultear grinned as she entered the room, busy refastening the buttons on the sleeves of her blouse. "Isn't it? It's all part of the illusion, and we do so _love_ illusions. In fact, we might put up another show before we leave. Didn't you have a few new tricks, Jellal?" She sent her partner a sly look, before turning back to Gajeel and Levy. "We just need to finish our little clean-up first. Blood stains are easy to remove, but the rest is a hassle. Post-mortem or not, I'll bet my next paycheck he's still got something hidden up his sleeve. A man with that many enemies has got to have been prepared for something like this."

Gajeel crossed his arms over his chest. "And how are ya plannin' on explaining the hole between his eyes?" He couldn't help but be cynical – it all seemed too easy, somehow, but then he'd worked for the nutter for too long to have much faith left in the world. Ivan was notorious in the Alleys for making things difficult for people, and Gajeel wouldn't put it past the man to be even more annoying after his death.

Ultear's lips quirked upwards in a pleased smirk. "Baby grand, that's the _easy_ part," she purred. "Ivan Dreyar was shot, right here in his study. With all the evidence we're about to dig up, contracts with all _sorts_ of shady characters, it won't come as a surprise to anyone that someone chose to come after him. Ivan might have fans, but like I said, he's also got a lot of enemies. We're just going to make people aware of it, and put an end to the charade." She shrugged. "It's the big reveal. _The final curtain_, if you will." She grinned wickedly at her own words, and Gajeel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. But he let the subject drop; it appeared they had it all under control, anyway.

There was something else nagging at him, though, but he turned his attention to Makarov for this. "And Gemma's girl? You think she's just gonna accept that it all goes straight to Laxus? If she's anything like her old man she ain't about ta just roll over; she'd have her dogs fight for the scraps before she'd do that."

Makarov sighed, as though Gajeel had reminded him of something he'd have preferred to forget. "Presumably, but though she is very much her father's daughter, I believe Minerva's interest lies in prize fighting. She made that quite clear, last I spoke with her." He smirked. "I do not think she will 'fight for the scraps', as you so eloquently put it," he added dryly.

Gajeel snorted. "So, what? She not going after the company, but we're just going ta sit by and let her pick up where he left off?" With Ivan gone, smaller clubs like Lily's finally had a chance of making it in the business, but if removing the lunatic had just made more room for another power-hungry tyrant...

Makarov shrugged. "Time will tell, though I imagine she will find resistance if she attempts monopolizing the industry. I only pray she keeps out of the moonshine business," he said wryly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "In any case, we must first deal with what is before us now. Worrying about the future will not help us get anywhere. Ivan's reign is over. That is all that matters right now."

Gajeel felt Levy's hand leave his, and his attention was drawn towards her in time to see her wipe her eyes. He frowned, but she waved him off. "Sorry," she murmured, and a sound caught in her throat, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I just...this is..."

Makarov smiled. "Levy McGarden."

She smiled through her tears. "Yeah."

"No more dallying in the sewers, eh?" Ultear asked as she went to join Meredy. "Well, who can deny a girl her fortune if she has one?" Gajeel felt her eyes on his back, but pointedly ignored her. He knew she saw more than she should sometimes, and always more than anyone wanted her to, and he tried not to let it bother him.

Even if he couldn't quite make himself stop thinking about it.

Levy drew a shuddering breath. "My old life...huh."

Makarov nodded. "It is all yours, if you so wish."

She looked at him then, and a tentative smile stretched across her face, but Gajeel couldn't make himself return it, fearing it would turn more into a grimace than a grin. He mentally kicked himself for his own selfishness. This was what she had fought for for so long, and here he was, wishing he could keep her in his world of dingy alleys and illegal drinking joints, like she belonged _there_ and not in an estate like the one they were currently in. After everything she'd gone through, she deserved having her name back – her family's legacy.

And if he had to let her walk out of his life...

"My dear, I want to apologize for what you went through tonight."

The old man's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and Gajeel looked up in time to see a puzzled look cross Levy's face. "What do you mean?"

Makarov was silent a moment, as though choosing his words. "I...hesitated, when I should have acted sooner. I'd held out the hope there was some way of reconciling with Ivan, that there was some way to bring back the son I had lost...but in my indecisiveness I almost lost two more of my children. I would like to say I had everything under control, that your life was never on the line, but that would be a lie. I am truly sorry, for taking so long to open my eyes, and for allowing you to go through what you did."

Levy said nothing to that, but Gajeel could tell the words hit their mark. In the end, she nodded, as she seemed to be having difficulties finding the words to reply. Gajeel saw Makarov smile, and return the nod, before turning away from them, back to Laxus.

She still said nothing, and Gajeel frowned, before nudging her to make her looked down at him. He tried to smirk – to lighten the mood, if anything – and was pleased when she returned it with a tentative smile of her own. "Hey."

"Hey," she murmured back.

"It's over."

Something flickered in her eyes at that, and she averted her gaze to their hands, no longer interlocked but sitting next to each other on the desk. She shifted hers then, until her slim fingers came to rest over his again, and Gajeel resisted the urge to yank his hand back, struck by the odd sense of vulnerability under her scrutiny. And all at once a lingering thought that had been nagging at the back of his mind hit him full force. Ivan's death hadn't just opened up for the possibility that she could go back to her old life, but it also marked the end of his contract.

She was no longer in need of a bodyguard.

Ultear had been right on more than one point with her colloquialism. It _was_ the final curtain; the end to their agreement, the link that bound them together. And yet where many would have said he was being a right pessimist, and that what it really was, was a new beginning, Gajeel couldn't make himself think that. Not yet. Not until she told him straight out what she had chosen to do. Only then would he decide whether or not it was an end or a beginning.

Because for him, there was only one option.

But for now he would settle for the fragile peace of their interlocked hands; his as torn and rough as ever, and hers with their blood-soaked suede gloves. She had not taken them off yet, and it made him wonder if that would be it; her decision, and her answer. Against a spot of unblemished white on her frock that had not been touched by blood, her hands stood out, like remnants from another world. His world, and a part of her now, though he could not make himself hope she thought so, too. But the hope was there, no matter how forcibly he tried to beat it into submission.

After all, no proper upper class girl would wear gloves like a gangster's moll, dyed brown with her own blood. The last link keeping them together; a fusion of her world and his.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gajeel watched Makarov walk over to the other side of the room where the redhead stood, silent in the dim shadows. She had not said a word since she'd come in with the old man, and Gajeel had forgotten all about her in everything that had happened since. Now, he was curious, and for a moment his worries were pushed to the back of his mind in favour of the scene before him, silently playing out while the chatter of the trio at the back of the room thrummed in the air, intermingled with an odd comment from Laxus.

"You did well, Flare," he heard the old man say, in the same tone of voice he used with his children rather than his employees, and despite himself, Gajeel could not suppress the small surge of surprise, though he should have seen it coming. He didn't catch what the old man said next, but saw his shoulders slump ever so slightly in what he recognised from his years working for the man as _guilt_, and saw her hand close around the wrist of her gun-arm, the one where he had spotted the fading bruise.

Shifting his gaze completely to the redhead, he watched a smile cross her face, and she bowed her head. "Thank you..." she said, sounding for the first time since Gajeel had met her...honoured. It was nothing like the fawning she had displayed to Ivan on so many occasions that used to make his stomach turn in disgust. It was different. It was respect, rather than reverence. The smile, too, was new. Out-of-place, almost, on a face he was so used to seeing pulled into a deep scowl. He'd almost call it genuine, but he'd spent so long enduring her scathing remarks and twisted grins that he was having a hard time making the deduction. But one thing he knew for certain; had known, since she'd walked back inside the study after she'd first left them alone...after she'd just bumped off her own boss. She had been the ace up the old man's sleeve.

And so the next words out of her mouth came as no surprise to Gajeel.

"...Master Makarov."

* * *

AN: Because I don't think Flare is as evil as her attitude first suggests; it's more Ivan's corruption. She's like Gajeel was in his Phantom Lord days, and I like to imagine that if given the chance, like Gajeel was by Makarov, she could have found a better place for herself.

Just two chapters to go, but as some of you might have picked up on, I'm leaving some options open for a sequel I've got loosely planned, set a few years later during the Great Depression. It's the reason Sabertooth has only had a vague introduction so far; they will play a bigger part of the next instalment. Let me know what you think, yeah? Have you had enough of this/would you like to see a follow-up, etc. I'd love to hear your thoughts!

**doublecross:** to cheat/stab in the back.


	32. the name of my father

AN: A _very_ late update, but my life's been hectic, so that's that. But it's extra long, and I've packed so many goodies for you in it like you wouldn't believe. Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

**Chapter XXXII**

Filtered sunlight peeked forth from behind the branches of the cemetery's lone magnolia tree, throwing slivers of light across the grass and catching in stray drops of dew from the previous night's shower of rain. The earth underfoot was muddy and damp, and her heels sunk into the soft dirt as she made her way across the grounds. A pale ray of sunlight caught the polished surface of the gravestone in her sight, sitting upon a fresh mound of earth in the shadow of the magnolia's naked branches. In a few months the tree would bloom, and when they fell the blossoms would cover the grave beneath, but until then Levy would make sure to bring them flowers herself.

Fingers tightening around the bouquet of lilies in her grip, she crouched down next to the headstone, the hem of her dress dragging in the soft dirt. Placing the flowers down, she arranged them so they covered some of the upturned dirt; the white of the flowers was stark against the dark stone. Tugging off one of her gloves, she ran her naked hand over the dew-covered surface, fingers tracing the inscribed letters. Drawing a deep breath, she expelled it with a puff, the morning frost turning the air into white mist.

"Hi, Daddy."

Reaching up, she wiped at her eyes and the tears that had started to run down her cheeks. "Sorry," she murmured, and then snorted, feeling silly. Looking down at the lilies again, their waxy white petals reaching towards her like welcoming arms. "I got your favourite," she said, a wry smirk tugging at her lips as she lightly nudged one of the flowers. "They're hard to find this time of year, you know, but Mr. Makarov pulled some strings. He's good at that, but I guess you already knew that."

She sighed. "He's helped me so much, I don't think I can ever repay him. Everyone in Fairy Tail...that's the speakeasy...uh..." she laughed a bit. "I know what you said about illegal drinking joints, but you'd like this one, I think. It's not just about the liquor, it's...a family." She smiled. "It's my family, now." She let her gaze drift over to the right side of the stone, where her mother's name was inscribed. She had been buried beneath the tree for as long as Levy could remember, and now her father had finally been allowed to join her. "You'd like them," she murmured. "Well, maybe not at once, but then first impressions aren't everything, and he's actually–" she cut herself off as she realized she had stopped talking about Fairy Tail as a whole, and shook her head with a small grin.

"He took a bullet for me once, you know? It was almost like a picture...except it wasn't very glamorous. To be honest, it was pretty awful. I had to drag him through the Alleys, Daddy!" She laughed, wiping her eyes again. "In the middle of the night and everything. You should have seen me! It's like you used to say, 'carrying those heavy books of yours is going to give you arms like a man!'. I'd say it turned out to be pretty useful!" She grinned, before her smile faltered as her gaze came to rest on the date of her father's death, sitting neatly below his name. "I still wish I could come to you for advice, you know," she murmured softly to the gravestone.

She sat back on her haunches, resting her arms loosely on her knees. The hem of her dress was already brown with dirt and rainwater, and one of her gloves had fallen down from her lap to soak up dew from the grass. She drew another deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say.

"I signed the company over to Laxus Dreyar."

The quiet of the graveyard seemed almost loud in her ears, but she paid it no mind as she continued, fiddling absently with the buttons on her sleeve, "Remember him? You talked about setting us up once. I didn't think you were _serious,_ but he told me so himself. He offered his condolences, you know. Said he'd met with you a few times, and that you'd talked about arranging a meeting between us. Daddy, you scheming old man!" She grinned, shaking her head. "I wonder if you'd have done that if you knew the business he was involved in," she added wryly. "My legacy would have been the biggest juice joint in the city. Would you imagine?"

She paused a bit, and the chilly breeze ruffled her hair, sending an errant lock falling into her line of vision. She brushed it behind her ear. "He's a good man. And...if you'd pictured him as your successor once, I guess you can't complain too much, even if the company is under the Dreyar name. To be honest, I don't know what you would have had me do, so I went with what felt right. I wasn't cut out for running a business, Daddy, but at least this way I know the company is in good hands."

She tilted her head to the side. "I guess this is where you would have asked me why I didn't just marry him, huh? It'd have been in our mutual interest, I guess, merging the companies through marriage, but..." She inhaled deeply. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...I've found my place. It's not like you'd imagined for me," she smiled wryly, "And I'd bet my fortune he's everything but what you would have chosen. He used to be a gangster, you know? And a prize fighter, and now he's a bootlegger, and...if I was trying to convince you of his merits I'm pretty sure I'd have lost you at 'gangster'," she laughed. "But now that we're on the subject, I guess I can be honest." Chewing on her lip, Levy contemplated what she would say next. It wasn't like her father could do anything about her choice even if he'd wanted to, but...she still felt she owed him an explanation. Him and her mother, though she only had vague memories of her. It didn't change the fact that they were still her parents, and had things been different, they would have wanted at least a heads-up about what she did with her life. Her father had been no avid traditionalist, but she knew he would have been hurt if she'd just left her old life behind and gone her own way without so much as a word.

Which was why she was currently kneeling in the damp grass of Magnolia cemetery, talking to a headstone.

Coming to the conclusion that there was no sugar-coating it, Levy sighed, a small smirk tugging the corner of her mouth upwards. "He drinks and smokes and I don't think anyone ever taught him how to tuck his shirt in, and while we're on _that_ particular subject, I think I've seen him wear clean shirts twice, and each time he's either gotten blood all over it or–" she stopped, and her hand drifted to her arm, wrapped tightly in gauze beneath the silk of her blouse. She smiled. "But he's a _good_ man, beneath all the dirt. I won't say you'd have liked him at first sight – I know I didn't. Gods, he was so infuriating!" She blew a puff of air, and shook her head. "I never thought I'd fit in his world, but...somehow I did, although that wasn't through any help of his, mind you. He'd have been happy to see me run away screaming those first few days, Daddy, he was such a bully!" She looked down at her hands, one naked and one covered; the glove powder blue suede with silk buttons. Expensive, as were the other things she wore. A luxury she wondered if she would be able to live without.

"Of course...I was a bit of a snob back then," she confessed. "Am still, I guess, but I've changed, too. I learned how to shoot a gun and everything." She stared at the headstone for a moment, before murmuring, to herself or to her father she didn't know. "I wonder if you'd be proud."

"Oye, Levy!"

Perking up at the sound of her name being called, Levy turned her head towards the entrance, from which Gajeel was striding towards her. She blinked, dazed, and rose from her squat, grimacing at the pins and needles that raced up her legs. She didn't bother brushing the grass off her soggy frock, and her glove lay forgotten at her feet; a relic of her old world that would be gone by the first snowfall. Turning her attention back to the man approaching her from across the grounds, she frowned. She'd thought he was out of town on a job.

"What are you doing here?" The question was asked in a rush as he strode up to where she was standing, hands in his pockets and oozing the carefree attitude she remembered from the day they'd first met. Except there was something distinctly different this time. Her frown deepened. "Is that a new suit?" A hand reached out before she could stop herself, brushing against the lapels, and her brows rose. Expensive. When she looked up to meet his gaze, there was a smug look on his face.

"Finally got a raise," he said with a grin, and she rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep the smile off her face. Her eyes flickered down to his waist, and she smirked.

"And your shirt is tucked in and everything," she teased. "What's the occasion?"

Something flickered across his face at the playful question, and her smile dropped, but before she could ask what it was about he beat her to it. "First ya give me an earful for showing up with a dirty shirt and now I need a reason to wear a nice suit? 'S there no pleasing you, woman?"

The smirk betrayed his annoyance, however, and Levy rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, _I'm_ the one that's hard to please." She grinned, tilting her head as she looked up at him. His hair was slicked back as always but braided instead of just gathered at the nape of his neck, and she was momentarily distracted by the coil of dark hair dangling down his back. He looked like he'd gotten properly dressed up – so much so that her mud-soaked, grass covered frock made her feel a little self-conscious. The order of things seemed to have completely turned on its head.

"You ready to go?" he asked then, the question interrupting her train of thought, and she saw him cast a quick glance down to the graves at their feet. She didn't follow his gaze, but nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Yes. I've paid my respects."

He said nothing to that, seemingly uncomfortable with the topic, but stepped aside to let her walk past him, a strangely gentlemanly gesture, coming from him. Suspicion nagged at the back of her mind, but she pushed it aside, lifting up the hem of her dress as she made her way across the grounds. Gajeel fell into step beside her, hands still in his pockets, but he said nothing as they walked, though she had the distinct feeling he was waiting for some sort of opportunity.

She'd been about to pry when her eyes caught sight of something by the iron gates of the church, and she stopped in her tracks, brows rising into her hairline. "Is that...?"

When she turned to look at him, a wide grin had cut through the previously grim expression. "Ivan's finest. Gift from the old man," he said with a shrug, as he followed her up to the gleaming automobile. "Said it was about time I got a bonus."

She laughed as she stepped up to the car, smoothing her hand over the gleaming metal. "Some bonus!" She couldn't say she knew a lot about automobiles, but she could recognize an expensive one when she saw it, and Gajeel's made Makarov's pride look like a flivver in comparison.

He smirked, shoulders straightening a little bit at her unexpected show of admiration. "Gotta be some perks of working for the biggest name in the city," he said, as he leaned against it.

Levy raised a brow at that, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're dying to pick it apart, aren't you?"

Whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips as his brows furrowed sharply. "How d'you–" he stopped, the confusion settling into recognition. "You've been scheming with Lily again. Tch. I swear, you two–"

"I've done no such thing!" Levy grinned innocently. "I was just...made aware of the fact that you've got an engine sitting in Natsu's kitchen. You never told me you were a mechanic."

He grumbled under his breath. "Anything wrong with that?"

She raised a challenging brow. "Did I say it was?"

He smirked. "Hard to tell with a posh upper class gal like you. A little grease might send ya running," he quipped.

She let a wry smile grace her face. "Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that. Can't very well call myself upper class without my company."

He frowned. "Thought it was back in your name."

She shrugged, and turned her eyes back to the car. "It was...and then I signed the rights over to Laxus. I don't have a mind for business, but he does, and...I know he'll take good care of it." She didn't think it worth mentioning that her father had contemplated arranging their union before his death; judging by how Gajeel had reacted to Loke, she would keep _that_ particular piece of information to herself as long as she lived, if possible. And from what she'd learned of him so far, so would Laxus. Especially considering just who _he_ had his eyes on, at least according to the rumour mill...

She met Gajeel's gaze again. "I'm just happy my father's name is cleared," she said. "And that he has a marked grave next to my mother, where he belongs. I don't need anything else."

He raised a brow at that. "What, not even yer books? From what I heard, yer old man had a pretty big collection."

Levy grinned. "He did. Laxus had them all moved to Makarov's estate. I can have access to them whenever I want."

Gajeel snorted. "Why am I not surprised?" But he sounded surprised; pleasantly so, but she didn't think it had anything to do with the books.

She tilted her head. "Did you really think I was going to go back? After everything?"

He seemed a little uncomfortable, being put on the spot like that, and she marvelled at how he could remain perfectly calm facing down the barrel of a loaded gun, but being asked a direct question with emotional implications had him looking like he'd rather be shot.

Finally, he grumbled. "Maybe."

"Idiot."

He glared at her. "Well what the hell was I supposed ta think? Remember the little speech ya had when ya first discovered who Alexei really was? About avenging yer family being the only thing important to ya?"

Levy crossed her arms over her chest. _"That_ was several months ago, and I wasn't thinking very clearly. And for the record, that was all I knew at the time. I'd been with Fairy Tail, what, a few _days?_ It wasn't my home back then." _Not like it is now_. And even if she didn't say it outright, she knew he caught the implication.

She watched as several things flickered across his face, and wondered what he was thinking, and, if he was going to tell her or keep his thoughts to himself as he so often did. Leaning against the hood of the car, Levy remained silent, allowing him the time he needed to decide. Whatever he had been thinking when he had tracked her down to the cemetery, she figured it was something important. The fact that he was wearing a suit was evidence enough, but she didn't know if she dared even consider the thought of what it could mean.

After a long moment of silence, Gajeel finally sighed, and seemed to come to a decision. Turning towards her, he squared his shoulders, though he didn't take his hands out of his pockets. She thought he looked like he was about to go a round in the ring, but refrained from telling him that, recognising the stubborn set to his brows as an indication that something big was coming and that he wouldn't take teasing well. Her heart did an almost violent leap in her chest, and she felt suddenly short of breath as realization slowly dawned on her.

"I had a chat with the ha–uh...Lily...a while back," he said at length, clearing his throat awkwardly, and Levy could only nod, though she had a feeling it wasn't Lily Gajeel was talking about. "He's a damn meddler, but...he had some good points."

"What did he say?"

Gajeel shrugged, looking up to meet her gaze. "He told me not to be an idiot and waste my chances, and...that I was damned lucky for having you forced on me." The last part was added with a smirk.

"I'll let that comment slide."

His smirk widened. "You sure? Might want to get it out now. Clear the air and all, before–" he stopped himself, as though he'd been about to reveal something.

"Before what?" She knew her voice wavered, and tried to ignore the way her heart was hammering against her ribs. She had a strong hunch as to what he was trying to tell her, and felt torn between throwing herself straight at him and not moving at all in case any sudden movements had him abandoning his pursuit and running into the opposite direction.

She didn't tell him that, of course, as he'd no doubt take it as a mortal insult that she thought she could scare him away.

As for Gajeel...he seemed torn between continuing to skirt around the topic and just blurting it out. "Are ya–" he stopped again, seemingly searching for words, and growing increasingly frustrated. "Can ya tell where I'm headin' with this?" he asked finally, apparently choosing some kind of middle way between actually breaching the topic and dropping vague hints.

She couldn't stop the tears. Really, she couldn't. And she _tried_ – she really did. Tried because she knew how uncomfortable crying made him, but it just wasn't possible keeping it in with him standing there, fumbling with his words and with his shirt tucked in. "M-maybe."

"Damnit, Shorty, are you _crying_?"

"N-no!"

He looked like he couldn't decide whether to be angry or embarrassed. "I haven't even ya asked yet, damn it!"

"But you're about to!"

"_How the hell can you tell?!" _

"You're wearing a suit!"

"I wear suits all the damn time!"

"This one's clean! Clean and _new_ and...and heavens, you're proposing! I can't believe you're actually _proposing–"_

"Oh, goddamnit!" He whirled around, just as she burst out laughing, throwing his hands up. "Are you kidding me with this?"

Levy wiped at her eyes, grinning through the tears. "Are _you_?"

He grumbled, and his glare didn't hold half the ire he probably wished it would. "No."

She shook her head. "I'm just happy, Gajeel. I'm not laughing at you, just...I hadn't really expected...this. Now. From _you_."

He looked oddly embarrassed, and muttered under his breath, "I can take it back."

"You haven't actually asked me yet," she pointed out, and had to bite down on her lip to keep from smiling too much as he turned his glare back on her. But he didn't say anything, and so they remained this way for some time, just staring at each other. Tears were still running down her cheeks, but now she made no move to stop them.

Finally, "I ain't getting down on one knee."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not asking you to."

He paused. "Fine." Looking towards her, he nodded. "So?"

She raised a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. "So? That's not a question, Gajeel."

"Damnit, woman!"

"You don't need to get down on one knee, but if you are asking me you're still going to do it properly. Now, I think I've made it pretty clear where my heart lies in all this, and while we're on _that_ subject I still think it's strange that you thought I would actually go back to my old life when I was ready to take a bullet for y–"

She was quite thoroughly interrupted by a rough hand yanking her chin upwards, and she found her words swallowed as he kissed her, pressing her up against the hood of the car until her toes almost left the ground. The arms that had been crossed over her chest untangled to grasp the lapels of his jacket, and she grinned against his mouth, and when her laughter spilled forth not even he could shut her up.

Pulling away to give her room to laugh without choking, Gajeel didn't step away, keeping her pushed up against the car. She grinned up at him, and let her hand fall down to grasp his where it was curled around her forearm.

"Is that how it's going to be whenever we argue?"

He raised a brow. "Plannin' on pickin fights, are ya?"

"It's going to happen sooner or later," she retorted.

He smirked, then shrugged. "We could fight it out in the ring. I could teach ya some moves."

She returned the smirk with one of her own. "Sounds awfully inappropriate, Mr. Redfox. Whatever will people think? An unmarried woman trading blows in the ring?"

He glared at her. "Who said anythin' about unmarried?"

She met his challenging look with her own. "I have yet to hear an indication of anything else."

"Stubborn wench. You tryin' to make me reconsider? 'Cause it's working."

"Reconsider _what_, exactly? I don't believe I know what you're talking about."

He snorted. "Liar."

"Dewdropper."

"Vamp."

"Ragamuffin."

"Not today."

"But tomorrow?"

He grinned. "We'll see. That a problem?"

She returned the smile. "No."

"Is that yer answer then?"

She laughed. "I can't answer if I haven't been asked an actual question."

"Ya already know the question."

"But do _you_ know the answer?" she retorted without missing a beat, eyes twinkling as she met his unflinchingly.

He sighed. "You'll be the death of me, ya know that?"

"I've almost been the death of you twice, if I'm not mistaken."

He said nothing to that, and her smile dropped at the suddenly severe look on his face, wondering if she'd said something wrong. "Are you having second thoughts? B-because if you are, you can still back out. I mean, you haven't actually asked anything yet, so you don't have to lose face–"

"Marry me, Shorty."

Her mouth snapped shut, teeth clamping down on her bottom lip to stifle the grin threatening to split her face. "...still not a question."

"_Goddamnit_–" he clamped his mouth shut, glaring down at her through furrowed brows. "_Fine_. Will ya marry me, ya stubborn wench?"

Now she allowed the grin to bloom without restraint as she looked up at him from below her lashes. The late autumn sunlight slanted off the roof of the church, making strange shadows dance across the grounds around them and casting his dark hair in an odd halo of light. And had it not been for the frown marring his face, she would have thought he looked very handsome in the strange light, this equally strange man who had somehow managed to charm his way into her heart.

"...is this where I say 'do you even have to ask?' and watch you blow a gasket?"

"_Damn it, Levy!" _

She wondered if it was sacrilegious to laugh so unabashedly in the middle of a cemetery, but once she heard him join her, his irritation dissolving into deep chuckles the likes of which she hadn't heard in all their time together, Levy figured the dead could use a good change. And when their humour had finally settled, and she'd actually provided him with an answer to his question, she wondered perhaps if there wasn't something oddly symbolic about the place surrounding them. The resting place of the dead, where she had not just laid her father to rest, but also her old life.

And as they pulled away from the driveway, and the empty branches of the magnolia tree disappeared behind the looming church, Levy tugged off her remaining glove...

...and threw it happily over the side of the car.

* * *

**Five months later**

Magnolia Station was bustling by the time she stepped off the train.

Loosening the top buttons of her coat to accommodate for the change in temperature, Charle cast a quick glance across the milling crowd, eyes searching for the tell-tale blue of a familiar sixpence, and frowned when she couldn't catch sight of it. Behind her, new passengers were busy boarding the train, pushing past her with muffled apologies that she only paid half a mind.

"Miss Charle!"

Looking back over her shoulder, she offered a smile as Nichiya pushed his way through the crowd towards her, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. It was a surprisingly warm day for being so early in the spring, and especially compared to how the weather had been in Extalia when they had departed two days before. "My, it's quite a different climate here altogether!" the ginger-haired man echoed her thoughts out loud as he loosened his tie. "You'd think it was the middle of summer!"

Charle said nothing to that as she let her eyes wander the expanse of the station again, until her gaze fell on the sprawling city in the distance. Small traditional brick and stone houses gave way to taller, more modern buildings, and in between the slate roofs she could see the bright pink blossoms of magnolia trees, dotted throughout the town.

"Magnolia Town," she mused. "How fitting."

It was a beautiful town, and different from Extalia. More diverse, which she could tell just from the people crowding the train station. Perhaps that was why her father had chosen it all those years ago, when he'd left his home in the wake of her mother's death sixteen years ago. She wondered briefly if he'd felt the same nervousness she did now, looking out towards the strange new city, if there had been room left in his heart for anything but grief.

A woman passed her by then, and Charle followed her with her eyes. Though her dark skin made her stand out amongst the crowd, she might have been invisible for the way she was treated. And though she wore a dress even finer than Charle's own, she was treated with none of the same respect. Charle felt a surge of embarrassment at having taken it for granted that people would move out of her way with polite nods, when it was clear the woman had to physically push her way through the crowd.

And she wondered, not for the first time since she'd learned of her mother's secret, what her life would have been like if she'd been born with her father's colouring. Would her mother have eloped, like she'd spoken about in her letter? Would Charle have been happier then? Or would she have been labelled an abomination, like so many children of mixed parents? She caught her reflection in the train window, and frowned at the image cast back at her.

It should have driven her away – the knowledge of her parentage. It should have made her run back to her father's estate in tears wishing she had never heard of the man she knew only as Lily. But it had had quite the opposite effect. Having been finally granted with the truth, she had been unable to let it go, and to go back to her old life as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened...it had been unthinkable. It was what her mother had _wanted_ her to know; it was why she had written her letter in the first place, no doubt in case something were to happen to her. She had wanted Charle to know the truth...like she had wanted the man she'd loved to know the truth; the choice that had cost Shagotte her life, and Charle her real father.

And though it had been nearly sixteen years, she refused to allow her mother's efforts to be for naught.

Wringing her hands, she tried to drown the nervousness bubbling up within her at the prospect of meeting the man she had spent the better part of a year tracking down. It hadn't been easy; he had, for all intents and purposes, dropped completely off the map. The only thing Nadi had been able to tell her was that sixteen years ago, Lily had left for Magnolia. He'd had no guarantee his old friend was still there, or that he had ended up there in the first place. Or even that he was alive, Nadi had admitted with some shame.

In the end, he had gotten her in touch with Nichiya, who had contacts in all the big cities through the moonshine business, as he owned one of the biggest distilleries on their side of the border. He'd had the means to scout for rumours, and it was because of him that Charle now found herself in the middle of Magnolia Station, with nothing but the clothes on her back and a small suitcase carrying her possessions. She hadn't told Nichiya exactly how much she had gambled on their visit; hadn't told him that she had, in fact, run away from home. If she had, she didn't think he'd have taken her with him. But her father didn't know who she'd left with, or even where she'd gone, if he had even noticed she was gone at all. Nichiya would be safe.

"Charle! Miss Charle! Over here!"

The voice drew her away from her thoughts, and a smile graced her face as she turned towards the entrance to the station, from which Happy was making his way towards them, manoeuvring through the crowd and waving his blue sixpence in the air to catch her attention. There was a wide grin on his face, and Charle felt herself smiling back, though she couldn't quite make herself return the enthusiastic gesture.

"Ah, there is the boy," she heard Nichiya say from beside her, but didn't take her eyes off Happy as he finally caught up with them.

"Miss Charle!" Coming to an abrupt stop in front of them, Happy bent over to catch his breath, a wide grin on his face as he looked up at her from under the brim of his hat. "Welcome to Magnolia!"

"Happy," she greeted. "How kind of you to meet us."

Happy's smile widened, and he extended a hand to Nichiya. "Hello, Mr. Nichiya. Nice to see you again!"

Nichiya grasped his hand. "Happy, my boy! Good to see you're doing well. It's been a while since you were last in Extalia. How's the business running?"

"Smooth as liquor! Ah, that is..." Happy blushed and averted his gaze, realizing he had slipped up. "The...ah, the Master says so, anyway," he laughed nervously. "I don't even know what that means..."

Charle had to school her expression into one of absolute innocence as she tried not to smirk. It had been a surprise to discover that the sweet, blustering boy who had nearly run her over in Extalia all those months back was also a rumrunner for the city's biggest liquor peddler. Of course, she hadn't told Happy she'd discovered this. After all, the smuggling of illegal spirits across the border was not a topic suited for a girl of her status and 'gentle nature'. Nevermind the fact that her dear father had had a foot firmly within the business since they'd issued the ban.

But Happy didn't need to know – not yet. And it was oddly sweet, seeing him stumble over his words around her, no doubt self-conscious of his chosen profession. It was one of the things she liked most about him. There were too many cynical people in her life, herself included. Happy was...different.

"So..uh, what are you two doing here...together?" Happy asked, glancing between the two of them curiously.

Charle smiled. "Mr. Nichiya was coming to Magnolia, and I asked him to escort me." She lowered her voice. "As it is, I am not supposed to be here, but I have no doubt I can trust you with that information, Happy." She let a teasing lilt slip into her tone, and his cheeks flushed.

"A-ah-aye! Sure thing!" He grinned unabashedly. "I'm just exited you could come to visit!"

She didn't bother correcting him, though she knew she would have to tell him the real reason for her visit sooner or later. She hoped he wouldn't be too hurt. After all, she had been looking forward to seeing him, and to be able to spend time with him without constantly looking over her shoulder for her chauffeur and bodyguard.

She cast a quick glance at his appearance, noticing for the first time the pressed shirt and pinstripe pants. "You look very smart today, Happy," she observed.

He looked down at himself, as though just now noticing. "Ah, thanks! There was a wedding earlier today; I just came from the reception to pick you up."

She raised a brow. "A wedding? A lovely time of year for it. Someone in your family?"

He smiled. "Yeah, you could say that; we're all family in a way. It's one of Mr. Makarov's–uh...agents," he finished lamely, scratching the back of his head. And, of course, by 'agent' he meant one of Makarov's bootleggers. And, of course, Charle wasn't supposed to know that.

She tried not to smile too much. "Ah. Well, it seems we've arrived at an inopportune time."

Happy tilted his head to the side, a frown tugging his brows downwards. "Why?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude..."

His frown turned into a grin so fast she almost didn't catch the change. "Ah, no worries! I asked the old man before I came here if I could bring a friend, and he said it was fine. There's plenty of food and–" he stopped himself again. "–and, uh, tea?" He coughed.

From beside her, Charle caught Nichiya's grin. "Ah, but that _does_ sound tempting. I've heard good things about Makarov's...tea." Which was hardly a surprise, as he was one of the manufacturers. But Charle wasn't supposed to know that, either.

Happy nodded. "You're both welcome to join us. Want me to take your bag, Cha– uh, Miss Charle?"

She smiled. "Just Charle is fine, Happy. And please, if you wouldn't mind."

The grin never left his face as he bent down to retrieve her suitcase, and she caught a look passing between him and Nichiya from the corner of her eye. No doubt he was curious as to the real reason behind the man's visit coinciding with her own, especially if Makarov hadn't alerted him to it. As she'd learned from Nichiya himself, despite his young age Happy was in charge of the distillery run between Extalia and Magnolia. It was likely he would have been the first to know if Nichiya planned to make a personal visit.

The thought struck her then that he might well be very hurt if he found out and she hadn't told him. And though part of her rebelled, reminding her that she had worked too long to get where she was to risk revealing her secret to the wrong person, another part of her insisted that Happy had a right to know. If nothing else, then simply because he was important to her.

They had departed from the station and Happy was looking around for a cab when Charle made up her mind. Reaching out, she curled her fingers around his wrist, catching his attention as sure as if she'd cocked a gun at him. Standing a few inches above her in height, he blinked down at her, visibly perplexed with a shy smile gracing his boyish face.

Charle cast a look over her shoulder at Nichiya. "Could you please give us a minute, Mr. Nichiya?"

The ginger-haired man nodded without preamble, his smile knowing, as he retreated to a bench a few feet away, far enough to keep her within his line of sight, but also far enough to keep himself out of earshot. Nodding her gratitude, Charle turned back to Happy as he opened his mouth to speak. "Miss– uh, Charle?"

She steeled herself. "There is something you need to know, Happy."

He frowned, and put the suitcase down by his feet. "What is it?"

She looked down at the hand still closed around his wrist, but made no effort to remove it. "It's...why I'm here. Why I'm _really_ here. As much as I would like it to be, it wasn't just to visit you." She looked up, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "I'm looking for someone."

He looked confused, but thankfully, not hurt. "That's why Nichiya is here, too."

Charle nodded. "He...knows the person I'm looking for. Or, he _knew_ him. He's been helping me look for him."

Something flickered across his face at that. Fear, Charle recognized it, and realized her mistake just as he opened his mouth. "So...uh, this...person. Who, exactly...?"

The blush was too precious, and she felt her heart leap in her chest at the sight. He thought she was looking for a suitor; that she had her sights set on someone else. And if the topic of discussion had been anything else, Charle would have found his nervousness amusing. As it was, however, she was too nervous herself to attempt even a small smile.

"My father."

At this, Happy frowned. "Your old man? Isn't he in Extalia?"

She shook her head, and before she could lose her courage, drove the truth home. "The man who married my mother...yes. He is in Extalia. You've met him, haven't you?"

Happy nodded slowly. "That one time, yeah...but...you're saying he's not your real father?" There was a hint of disbelief in his voice, and Charle couldn't blame him. Modern times or not, illegitimate children were still a controversial subject at the best of times.

She shrugged. "He is the man who raised me, but no...he's not my real father."

"And your real father...is here? In Magnolia?"

She smiled ruefully. "So we think. Or at least, that is what Mr. Nichiya believes. It remains to be seen."

Happy tilted his head to the side. "Well, d'you know his name? I could help you out, if you want. And if I don't know him, I might know someone who does. D'you know what does for a living? He a big businessman or something?"

She didn't blame him for immediately jumping to that conclusion, and wondered how he would take the news. From what he had told her, he wasn't much interested in prize fighting, although he often talked about his older brother who had quite a name in Magnolia, and the man who owned a club and who kept trying to get Happy to join. She wondered if perhaps his brother would know...

"I don't know what he would be doing now, but when he lived in Extalia he used to be a prize fighter," she said at length, never taking her eyes off his face, and genuinely interested to see his reaction.

Happy's brows disappeared behind the brim of his sixpence, and a grin stretched across his face. "Yeah? Well that's great! I know lotsa boxers around these parts! He famous?"

Charle averted her gaze, feeling a strange sort of pride simmer in the pit of her stomach. It was odd – she'd grown up hearing people praise her father into the skies for his business skills, but it had never made her feel very proud. Not the way she'd felt when she'd first heard Nadi speak of the man who had, despite the colour of his skin and the hardships that had brought him, fought his way to the very top of the boxing business in Extalia fifteen years ago.

"He was...before I was born. I don't know if he is here, though, or even if he's still a boxer." News about coloured boxers hardly ever left the cities they originated from, no matter how great they were, and Nichiya had not been able to dig up anything so far from Extalia, which was why he had proposed they go straight to Magnolia to see for themselves. Charle wondered briefly if he was even there. Fifteen years was a long time, and as far as she knew, he'd had no family in Magnolia. Why he'd even gone there in the first place was a mystery. And if he was there, would he even want to see her, if he knew she'd come looking for him? Perhaps he had a family of his own now, and all she'd be doing would be bringing back old grief and regrets by barging into his new life...

But just as her resolve faltered, Happy looked ready to burst at the seams from his eagerness. "Well, what's his name? Or d'you know what people called him? Maybe he still uses the same moniker?"

She titled her head, regarding him closely. "I don't know his last name, but I know his...moniker, is that what you called it?"

"Yeah, like...his stage name, or y'know, the one he used in the ring. What was it?"

She smiled up at him, a little shyly, feeling as though she was revealing a great secret. But wasn't that exactly what she was doing? It was her greatest secret, had been her mother's greatest secret, kept in the dark for sixteen years. And now she would be revealing it, and of all people to a sweet-natured rumrunner she'd only known a few months.

The midday sun slanted off the blue of his sixpence that shaded his wide, innocent eyes, and she felt that, even if her efforts lead her to a dead end and her father was no longer in Magnolia, the boy standing in front of her, sharing her excitement like it was his own...It was enough to convince her she had chosen the right path. No matter what results her confession would bring her in the end.

Meeting his gaze unflinchingly, Charle threw caution to the wind.

"His name was Lily the Panther."

* * *

AN: Aaaaand of course I choose to leave it there. You must have all learned by now, especially those of you who've been following this from the beginning and who've had to suffer through all the cliffhangers, that this is how I run my business. No hard feelings though, since I left you with a promise of family feels? Or have I? I have been known to throw in unexpected twists here and there, after all. Who knows what will actually happen. I GUARANTEE NOTHING.

On another note, though, the sequel now has a title and a vague plot-line, for those interested. I'll be working on it this summer, and probably start posting come autumn. Stay tuned!


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